#Cupcakes-Wine>Come

[sophiethewitch1]

What We Want - Prologue

In Which A Romantic Breaks The Universe

(Yandere!batboys x f!reader) 18+ MDNI!

SUMMARY

Another lonely birthday, another empty year. You miss your family. You're late for your bills and rent, and even then, you got robbed last Tuesday.

Still, you buy yourself a cupcake, because you need it. I mean, hey. What's dessert for if not to get over cheating boyfriends and dead relatives?

As you blow out the candle, watching the clock switch from 11:59 pm to midnight of the next day, you make a wish.

And because the world doesn't like to make much sense, it comes true. Your life is suddenly flipped on a dime, and you're stuck trying to catch up with it. Fantasy becomes reality. You're a Wayne now, apparently. Or you used to be. You're loved, you're rich, you're talented and powerful.

Well, sort of. Careful what you wish for, right?

(TRIGGER WARNINGS AND MASTERLIST HERE)

PREV - NEXT

The cupcake is smashed. Pink icing and gaudy star-shaped sprinkles coat the interior of the box, and the pastry itself has devolved into crumbs. You just stare at it. It had cost you seventeen dollars. It was expensive, yeah. But you’d spent the last three months walking past it every morning and afternoon in the bougie cafe’s windows. You’d waited. You’d wanted.

And it was destroyed. Completely. The perfect swirl of the buttercream was no more. The single, delicate flower made of frosting had lost half it’s petals. You weren’t sure how you could eat it. The wrapping had been warped, but maybe a tea spoon would work?

You let your head fall into your hands, a sob wracking your shoulders. And then less than a second later you swallow down the feeling, and stride over to your shitty apartment’s tiny kitchen. You grab a lighter, a plastic wine glass and the bottle of white wine Molly had given you earlier today. You hadn’t told her what happened yet, but she could tell something had. She’d gave you the wine, a hug, and the promise to always be by your side.

Despite today’s circumstances, despite this week’s circumstances, despite this decade’s circumstances, you were going to have a good birthday getting black-out drunk.

You weren’t going to let yourself sink into one of your funks. Even if it was the worst day of the year by far. Even if it was the second worst birthday of your life.

You just don’t. It’s not allowed.

Your phone rings. Sliding it out of your pocket, you stare blankly at the name on the screen. Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.

Malcom. One of George’s friends. You reject the call, block the number, and slide your phone back in your pocket. See? Dealing with things like an adult. Not throwing a temper tantrum, not crying, not… well, destroying your life in an epic meltdown. You’d had a few of those. Still, despite your obvious erraticness, you hadn’t been fired this year. Yay!

You told yourself you were getting better, even as the universe seemingly conspired against your happiness. You were kind of convinced it was.

Turning, you play with the cap on the wine, walking over to your old ratty couch and falling into it. The beast groans at the contact, but you pay it no mind. The thing was probably older than you, and you were celebrating your twenty-first today.

You were an orphan in Gotham, it was not your first time drinking. Molly had dragged you to so many awful parties over the years. But this wine was probably the fanciest you’d ever been given. Scratch that, definitely was. You pour yourself a glass, stick the birthday candle half-hazardly into the largest chunk of cupcake, and grab the remote.

The only true comfort you can get on this day. A woman, a reporter. She speaks, but you can’t really hear what she’s saying. You chug down a glass of the wine, apologising in your head to Molly, and then pour yourself another.

It takes a few minutes, but your muscles relax, and her words tune into focus.

“Today’s memorial, is once again sponsored by the Wayne foundation.”

Yeah, because they’re the only charity organisation in the city. The family of billionaires were debatably the only good ones in existance. Debtable because you weren’t sure if they were good enough themselves. As an orphan who’d known the cruelty of the system yourself, you were a mix of bitter and grateful towards them. Sure, they’d been the only thing that kept you out of true poverty. You were still an awful bitch about it.

You always had been the jealous type. The other kids who got better backpacks or toys or whatever had you seething with fury. The multitude of orphans Bruce Wayne risen out of poverty were not safe from your envy. It didn’t matter if you were… Well, a little bit, just a teeny-tiny-tiddly-little bit… obsessed. Obsessed with them. Kind of manic about it, actually.

You were working on it. Today was a bad day, and you were a little too raw. So, like every little dumb animal on the planet, you went straight to your creature comforts. You pretended you were a roman eating and drinking on their chaise lounge, watching their magnificent entertainment.

Delusional. Your sofa was falling apart at the seems, your cupcake was debris and your entertainment was a memorial service. Wine was good, though.

Gotta focus on the good parts.

You watch the TV screen, the reporter’s voice drifting in and out of focus. There was a family photo of the Waynes and their family friends, all in perfect suits and dresses and pearls and fancy watches. You’d bet that those little accessories were worth more than a year of your rent.

And you lived in fucking Gotham, both the most expensive city to live in, and the worst at the same time. A miracle, truly.

Anyway, they were all stunningly beautiful, even some of the guys. God knows how much the internet went on about Richard Grayson’s long eyelashes. You’d always been enamored with Dick’s good looks. Even Damian Wayne who had only turned nineteen a few months ago and was three years younger than you was already being fawned over by the tabloids.

Gotham’s newest young rich bachelor. Bitterly envious, that was you. You didn’t like that emotion, though, so you turned your attention to others. Namely, delusion.

You let yourself get swept up in daydreams. Of having a rich family, of one so close knit as the Wayne’s. Of having a handsome, loving, kind partner. You don’t let yourself dream about your real family, of a George that was faithful.

You just don’t.

Maybe someone like Tim Drake. Loyal, everyone who knew him described him as loyal. His romances with Bernard Dowd and Stephanie Brown were famous. There were hundreds of papparazzi photos of him with big bundles of roses and a sweet look on his face. You thought someone like Tim Drake would probably be like one of the heroes in your romance novels. Something silly like a meet cute in an airport, or maybe a bookstore or a cafe. He was pretty famous in Gotham’s niche hipster coffee scene, right?

Yeah, you could see it now. Some dumb but cute scene where you get confused and accidentally take his order. You get the same drink, and bond over your shared love of caramel syrup. Like he didn’t live on the opposite side of the city from you, and you probably couldn’t afford whatever fancy shit he drunk. Italian coffee beans versus… well, you didn’t actually know what you bought. You knew it didn’t taste very good, but it was dirt cheap.

What were you doing? Ah, yes, silly daydreams about romance.

But even as you think of Tim, Dick Grayson was so pretty, and he’d had his fair share of partners too. Someone with such an angelic face had to have a personality to match, and the media agreed. Of course you didn’t really know what he was like, this was all just fantasy. Other than numerous tabloid interviews and television, which suggested he had a kind heart and a love for bad jokes you truly knew nothing about the guy. Still, he’d be the golden retriever trope, you think. Or the knight in shining armor, saving his heroine from one of the many disaster’s plaguing Gotham and confessing his love in one big final act. His meet cute would be the airplane one. The blue of his eyes, it makes you think of the sky. You’d take his seat, but he’d be super sweet about it. Like he didn’t have a private jet, and would never be caught on economy.

You think Damian Wayne could play a good romance lead as well. From what you’d seen, he seemed to have a terrible personality, which was perfect for any modern romance. A classic enemies to lovers, with some bickering. Maybe he’d have secretly loved her the entire time, and maybe there’d be a good grovel at the end. So, appreciating his character, he’d have to have a meet ugly. Probably get stuck in an elevator with him or something, and he’d get to display his keen intellect and argumentative nature.

You swirl your wine, nodding your head. Brilliant ideas today, you should talk to Molly more. She’d definitely appreciate your wisdom. She wanted to be a screen writer one day, and all this would be very helpful. She was going to college for it. You couldn’t afford college.

Maybe you were drunk. Maybe you were a genius. It was hard to tell, so you take another sip. That’ll help you figure things out.

“As always, the Wayne families’ faces are morose as they celebrate the late Jason Todd.”

And as always, you felt an odd connection with the dead man. Your lives had both technically ended the same day, in the same grand calamity. Sure, you were still technically alive. Kicking about. But everyone you loved dying in one fell swoop, right in front of your eyes? You felt more like a ghost these days.

Weren’t you supposed to be fighting those sorts of thoughts off? Whatever, it was too much effort anyway.

Your slight obsession with the Wayne family had been initially started by Jason Todd. You hadn’t been thinking about him as much recently with George in your life, but he swung right back into place as soon as George left your life. Like a magnet, or more likely, a compulsion.

But now you were brought right back to the morning after. Seeing the entire city grieving the day after you’d lost your family, your first thought had been ‘Good, I’m not the only one,’ and then you’d stopped being an idiot and realised the city was mourning Jason Todd, heir to the Wayne name. Sure, there’d been hundreds of others who’d died, but that was Gotham. Your family had gotten a plaque filled with tens of other forgotten names, Jason had gotten framed photos hung around the city.

Today, his photo was once again surrounded by thousands of bouquets. Peonies, roses, daffodils, lillies, a rainbow of petals that almost covered his memorial stone. It reminded you of your sad-ass cupcake. When the camera zoomed out, you could see your smaller set of poseys against one of the thirty towering monuments, the tiny names crammed into the rock. Your families name was on line fifty-two, near the bottom. You could only afford the flowers once a year, but you visited once a week at least.

There were other flowers. Other offerings. Other candles. Jason’s dwarfed them all.

You sometimes couldn’t tell if you hated the dead man or were hopelessly in love with him. Obviously it didn’t matter. Even when he was alive he was out of both your league and your tax bracket.

Still, you were absolutely certain of it, Jason Todd would beat up George Lancaster. So fucking bad. To a bloody pulp. He’d be eager to do it, as well. You could hum and haw about how you thought violence was bad but he’d see right to the core of you.

The part of you that wanted George Lancaster to suffer. And he’d do it with a kiss and a promise that he’d make it slow. He’d save you from all your monsters, and he’d do it eagerly. And that was the fantasy of it all, wasn’t it?

You lift your glass, in celebration of your dead parasocial imaginary boyfriend. You hoped he wouldn’t be jealous of your new living parasocial imaginary boyfriends. Hiccuping out a laugh, you swallow down another gulp.

And even then, of course you wanted Bruce Wayne as a father. As someone who has seen the worst of the world, and would protect you from it. As someone who would wipe away the tears, who would save you from your own self. And you wanted Cassandra as a sister, someone to groan over guys with and steal clothes off. You wanted the close relationships they shared with Barbara Gordon and Stephanie Brown, with Duke who’d only recently come into their fold. You even wanted their dog you’d seen in photos, the cat that Damian posted on his instagram, the fucking cow they kept for god knows reason inside the estate. You wanted everything, every part of their lives. You were a jealous person, but more than that, you were a greedy person.

You glance at the clock.

11:57.

You shakily open the candle packet, picking a green one out. That had been Sam’s last favourite colour, but he switched them so often it was hard to remember. You stab it into the pink frosting. Julie always chose pink for her cake. Chasey loved flowers, particularly poseys. The flowers had looked like posesys before they’d been crushed.

You light the candle. It’s tiny flame flickers in the dark room, the warm light overpowered by the cool from the television. You peek back over to the clock.

11:58.

And Mum always made her wish at midnight, because she believed that was when it was most likely to come true.

What would you wish for? You never did, because you never knew what you wanted to wish for. Everything you wanted, everything you could’ve wanted, was gone. It couldn’t come back, it was impossible.

11:59.

You look at the TV, at the blinding forms of the Wayne family. Of their graveyard, with the manor in the background. It’s as impossible as everything else. But that’s what they represent for you, isn’t it?

Something hopeful. Something impossible.

You wanted impossible.

12:00.

You lean over the messy cupcake, and blow the candle out. It disappears in one blow, and you sink back into the couch. You take a few crumbs from the cupcake and sneak them past your lips. In your drunkenness, you probably get more on the couch than in your mouth.

You let your eyes flutter shut, and because only you can, you give yourself the comfort of lies. You imagine loving embraces, whispered platitudes. You imagine that today was a good day, that you’d find yourself tomorrow happy. That you wouldn’t wake up with a hangover, that you wouldn’t have a shitty job, an evil ex, and mountains of debt.

That you’d have people who loved you, who could ease the pain.

And you don’t even care who they are.

MASTERLIST - NEXT

[moonlightazriel]

Baby bumps and cookie crumbs /// Azriel X F!Reader

Summary: Azriel comes home from a mission to find his mate bonding with his family.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1,2K

Notes: A little Christmas spirit for this blog since my Christmas won’t be that good.

Main Masterlist

Azriel sighed, removing his boots by the door, the house quiet, the only sound being the soft steps as his feet made it to the master bedroom. Whenever he came home from a mission he would find her there, tangled in the blankets, snoring softly and with a serene expression adorning her beautiful face.

But to his surprise, the house was empty, his warrior instincts kicking in. He held the truth teller in between his fingers, searching around the house for her, but she wasn’t anywhere. Her scent was the only lingering in the air, which made him relax a bit.

With solstice preparations she was probably out in town, but he couldn’t help thinking the worst whenever she was out of his sight. As if sensing his distress, he felt three pulls in his chest, and the bond hummed with life. He took a deep breath, going back to the bedroom so he could have a bath.

A knock sounded by the door, and Azriel went to answer, towel hanging on his hips and another one drying his hair. He opened the door, rolling his eyes at Cassian’s whistle.

“If I knew you would be in the shower, I would’ve come earlier.” He mocked, shoving Azriel aside so he could make himself comfortable on his couch.

“Where’s my mate?” He asked, leaving Cassian in the living room so he could get dressed.

“At the River House, everyone’s there.” Cassian's voice was muffled, and when Azriel got back to the living room, fully dressed and fixing the beanie over his hair, Cassian had a whole cupcake in his mouth.

“Hey, those were mine.” He slapped Cassian’s head.

“It’s not my fault your mate cooks like an angel.” Cassian cleaned the frosting around his mouth and aimed for the door. “I was sent to get you, so let’s go.”

“After you.” Azriel motioned for him to go first, locking the door behind him.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

Indeed everyone was there, the house filled with joy and laughter, the whole place was warm, and he thanked Lucien mentally, cuz the short flight to the River House was cold even for him. The redhead was by the fireplace, shoving wood into the fire.

“Hey man, thanks for that, it’s freezing out there.” Cassian said, squeezing Lucien’s shoulder, to which the male just smiled, nodding his head.

“Azriel!” He greeted, and he greeted back. He wanted to find his mate, his body buzzing with energy to be with her. “Y/N is in the kitchen with the other females.” Lucien winked and Azriel thanked him.

He crossed the house until reaching the kitchen, pushing the double doors open, the space was a mess, Feyre was sitting with a happy smile, sipping in her wine. Nesta was by her side, resting her head on her shoulder, the two sisters watched the scene unfold.

With a thin layer of flower covering her hair, Y/N was giggling, pinching Nyx’s cheeks as the boy screamed in joy. Elain was by her side, trying to mix what looked like cookie dough.

“Now, help aunt Elain with the chocolate chips.” She gave him the package and the boy slowly added them into the mix.

Azriel took a deep breath, the smell of pastries, wine and life growing filled his senses. Y/N turned to him, her face glowing in happiness as she spotted him watching her from the doorway.

She walked to him, and she tried to wrap her hands around his neck to pull him in for a hug, but a 9 months pregnant belly got in the way, preventing her from holding him like she wanted, making her adorably pout.

“I love our baby, but I can’t wait to get rid of this belly.” She smiled and Azriel felt his heart melting.

“Maybe this helps?” He suggested turning her around and hugging her from behind, head resting in the crook of her neck and hands cupping her belly, holding the weight for her. Y/N leaned into him, moaning a bit too loudly.

“Ew, get a room.” Nesta groaned.

“When you’re carrying a baby and your mate holds the weight for you, let’s see if you’re not going to be moaning like a lady from the pleasure hall.” Feyre poked her sister’s side, prompting Nesta to wiggle away from her.

“Uncle Az.” Little Nyx grabbed his legs, making grabby hands towards the male. Azriel scoped him up, kissing the boy’s cheek.

“How are you doing buddy?” The boy looked at him.

“We’re making bat cookies. Aunty Y/N and Aunty Elain are the best at making them.” Y/N giggled.

“Only because we have the best assistant in the world.” Nyx turned to her, lowering his body until he kissed her belly.

“When I’ll get to play with my cousin?” He asked and his mother shimmed in, grabbing him from Azriel’s lap.

“Soon baby, soon. Now let’s get clean for dinner.” She took the baby away.

“You should get cleaned too, you’re covered in flour.” He pulled her as close as possible, brushing the white powder from her head. He lowered until he captured her lips in a gentle kiss. “I missed you two.”

She reached for his face, caressing his cheek, tracing the contour of his lips, like she could never get enough of looking at him.

“We missed you too, Azzy.” The shadowsinger led his mate to the dinner room where everyone was gathering. He scooted his chair closer to hers, never wanting to be apart, resting a hand on her belly.

“How is little Cassian doing?” The male asked, turning his attention to her.

“They are just fine, Cassian, we don’t know if it’s a boy or not.” She started.

“And…” Azriel sipped on his wine. “We’re not naming our child after you.”

“What?” Cassian scoffed. “Why not? And I’m sure it’s a boy.”

“No one knows that for sure Cass.” Y/N pointed, and Elain cleared her throat.

“I know.” She simply stated. “I had a vision last week.”

“You know?” Azriel asked in shock.

“Do you guys want me to tell you? I’m totally fine with keeping it a secret if that’s what you wish.” She smiled sweetly at them, Lucien had an arm around her shoulder in reassurance as Elain was still very shy about her powers.

Az looked at Y/N, the two didn’t need to have Daemati powers to communicate silently, they just knew each other that well.

“We do.” The two said in union. Elain felt her cheeks hot as all the eyes were on her now.

“You are going to be having a boy.” She shyly replied, just to be startled by Cassian's loud cheer, smacking the table.

“I told you little Cassian is on the way.” He pointed to the couple, forcing them to laugh along with him.

“Thanks Elain, that means a lot.” Y/N replied, smiling widely to the female.

That night, the family celebrated the new member, drinking wine and eating bat cookies that tasted absolutely delicious. And when Azriel took his mate home later that night, warming himself in her soft embrace. He ran his fingers through her hair.

“Our little boy will be here soon.” She whispered.

“I can’t wait to meet him.” He kissed her, feeling his chest full with love. “Our precious little boy.”

[azrielbrainrot]

I'll Be Here

Pairing: Azriel x Healer!Reader

Description: You feel a little out of place at a celebration in the House of Wind and a certain Shadowsinger comes to the rescue.

Word Count: 3605

Warnings: None

Notes: I had this stuck in my head and decided to just write it down. I'm not really a writer so bear with me please. Hope you enjoy!

Healer!Reader Masterlist

It's hard to keep an eye on how much wine you drink when the glasses get refilled magically. You've heard that this house has a consciousness of its own. Maybe it can sense your growing anxiety and keeps filling your glass in hopes of helping ease your mind a little. The more you drink the more worried you get, the thought that getting too drunk will only put you at a higher risk of embarrassing yourself having infiltrated your brain and pushed all the rational thoughts out. Big gatherings aren't exactly your cup of tea and the fact that this one was personally hosted by your High Lord didn't exactly help ease your nerves.

You've visited the House of Wind before but always as a part of your duties. Though it was because of your duties you were invited to this dinner so maybe you could add this attendance as part of your job. The High Lord and High Lady decided to invite notable people in Velaris for a night of celebrating the thriving city. After losing its High Lord for decades and the war that followed his release, Velaris went through some tough times but with the help of its people - most of them gathered in this space tonight - the city was once again prospering.

As a healer you usually see the High Lord and his Inner Circle in a state of emergency, when your abilities are needed and there's usually no time for formalities or worries. Every time you encounter them outside of those situations you never know what to make of yourself. You wouldn't say you're completely inept at social situations but you're definitely a lot better at handling them when they involve your patients and you have a job to do, something more important to focus on than choosing the right thing to say.

Your relationship with the Inner Circle is professional albeit friendly. It's hard not to feel your heart warming at the cupcakes the General insisted on buying you for helping heal his wings even after explaining that you actually only helped on his recovery process. Every time he drops by the clinic to pick up any herbs or ointments he insists on buying you one - though you suspect it's also an excuse to get one for himself - and when you see him out and about he demonstrates how healthy his wings are, having done it just before dinner when he was in charge of flying you up to the house. The painting the High Lady personally painted for you, as an acknowledgement of your efforts during the war, hangs right behind your desk in your office at the clinic and is one of your most important possessions.

This would be the kind of relationship anyone would kill to have with their employees - friendly acquaintances. But, since you were there for some of their most intimate moments and helped them through them, you never know how to act when you're not doing your job. You can't exactly call them your friends, even putting the fact that is your High Lord and High Lady aside, outside of work you only exchange some pleasantries whenever you bump into them. However there's too much knowledge for you to act completely professional after decades of nursing them and their family back to health. It feels awkward to shake their hands when they have hugged you with tears in their eyes, thanking you for saving their family.

There's also the tiny detail of the crush you've harbored on the resident shadowsinger ever since you first laid eyes on him. On top of trying to walk the line between friends and strangers with everyone else, you also have to be careful with not letting the observant Spymaster find out about the beat your heart skips when you see him. Making things awkward because of a silly crush is the last thing you need.

It's that reminder and the monumental effort you have to make not to let your eyes search for him that has you finally sneaking out of the room, deciding to find a quiet place to sober up. The House had fed you too much wine, and you still had to be flown back down at the end of the night. You'd really hate to throw up on Cassian's fancy suit. He probably wouldn't buy you cupcakes ever again.

You remember some of your surroundings after decades of being called in for emergencies, quickly finding one of the huge balconies overlooking the city. The fresh air grounds you almost immediately. You can still hear the muffled sounds of the ongoing party but the quietness of the mountain lets you get lost in thought. As much as you enjoy the liveliness of the nightlife in Velaris, you infinitely prefer the quietness and freedom only the woods or mountains at night can provide. When it's only you, the moon and the stars, and the world stops.

You don't know how long you sit there for, leaning on the railing and looking into the distance, wondering why your healing abilities work on some forms of poison but not on sobering you up. Your head only comes back to earth when you hear a familiar voice calling out your name behind you. You turn around fast enough to make you a bit dizzy, leaning back against the railing with wide eyes.

“Didn't mean to scare you,” the shadowsinger explained, “I just noticed you were gone from the room.” You spot the way he's bringing his wings closer to his body, making himself smaller, if that were even possible. Azriel made you feel a lot of things but you hadn't felt scared of him in decades, ever since the first time you met him. If you hadn't been already tipsy and distracted thinking about him you wouldn't have reacted so dramatically.

Realizing the spymaster of this court had just found you wandering around his house unattended, you rush to apologize and give him an explanation.

“I'm sorry. I needed some fresh air and remembered there was a balcony around here. I shouldn't have left the party without permission.” You make to move back, showing you were ready to go back to the party but he raises a hand and takes a step closer to you, stopping you before you can.

“You're not a stranger to this house. No need for permission,” he took another tentative step towards you before continuing, “Do you feel better now?” You relax back against the railing, your heart beating fast for a whole different reason now. It's not often you get to see Azriel out of his leathers and you barely had a chance to see him up close tonight, he looks mesmerizing.

“What?” Maybe you didn't sober up as much as you thought. Maybe being this close to Azriel was just an intoxicating experience in itself. Either way your brain was having a hard time catching up to his words and your chest was starting to feel warm.

“You said you needed some fresh air.” There's a glint in his eyes that wasn't there before. Probably realizing that you weren't actually going to be sick. His shadows peak behind his shoulders, following their master as they usually do.

“Yes. It was just getting a bit stuffy in there.” Aside from the butterflies creating a hurricane in your stomach, talking to Azriel feels right. His calm demeanor lets your thoughts quiet. “I might have drank too much because of the nerves.”

The Shadowsinger moves until he's leaning against the railing next to you. His eyes wander the illuminated city slowly before meeting yours. Stretched wings hang in what you assume is a less straining position after having to be pulled tighter into his body in the crowded room. Shadows start rolling off his shoulders, now lazing around him instead of covering him. The soft wind moves his hair ever so slightly, letting a few strands curl around his forehead and giving him an almost boyish look. It's not often you see the spymaster appear relaxed. You decide it might be your favorite look on him.

“Nerves?” Your eyes search his face once again after hearing the confusion in his voice. Azriel has a permanent seat at the High Lord's table not only as the Night Court's Spymaster but also as someone Rhysand considers family. This night isn't so different from every other dinner he shares with his family, just more crowded.

“I've never been to this house outside of my duties. It's a bit nerve-wracking to be personally invited by the High Lord.” As you finish speaking one of his shadows curls around his ear. You've learned they do this when they're speaking to him. The thought of it being about you has your heart speeding up. Only the Mother knows just how much those shadows can see and hear, if they can hear your thoughts. You check your mental shields just in case. They can be as terrifying as they are beautiful.

“Rhys and Feyre couldn't have thrown a party celebrating the strength and courage the people of Velaris have shown without one of our best healers. You've helped more people than we could ever thank you for.” The warmth you felt in your chest before was now spreading up your neck at an alarming rate. You had just been doing your job but being recognized for it felt incredibly rewarding. The fact that this praise came from the shadowsinger was making you especially giddy. “Rhys invited you because you're very important to this court, to us.”

“I am?” The question comes out before your brain has a chance to catch up. You try not to cringe at the surprise in your tone. It's not that you're not aware of your capabilities, the High Lord and High Lady either call for you or for Madja, one of the most powerful and wise healers you have ever seen. But old insecurities will always show their claws, indifferent to your achievements. To think that you could be important to all these extremely powerful people seemed like the punchline to a joke.

“Of course.” His body turns to you ever so slightly. Fingers uncurl as if he wanted to reach out, comfort you. “None of us would be here in good health if it wasn't for you, maybe not at all. You've helped us more times than I can count.”

“I was just doing my job. And I can't take credit for Madja, I'm usually just assisting her.”

“Even so, you've helped us through a lot.” He sounded very sincere, there was no denying he meant every word, but you still have a hard time believing it.

“I just don't think I really fit in here,” you whispered so low that if it wasn't for his fae hearing he wouldn't have been able to make out the words. The admission felt heavy in the air, it felt good to let it out. You hadn't been this honest with anyone, perhaps even yourself, in decades, you must have drank way more wine than you initially thought.

You weren't born in Velaris, but you've lived here for a century. The problem is you've spent the better part of that century waiting on feeling like you finally belonged. You never felt at home in your own court or in your family so it might have been wishful thinking that it would happen here.

“I think like that sometimes too.” As baffled as you were to hear that coming from him, he looked even more surprised than you. It seems he hadn't meant to say that out loud, but the words couldn't be taken back now.

“That's insane,” you try to level your voice after the outburst, "You're part of this family. Why wouldn't you fit in?” You couldn't let him think like that, there was no doubt in your mind everyone here loved and cherished him like family.

Rhysand's inner circle was known for how close they were, they were seen as the High Lord's family regardless of if they were blood related or not. Azriel has always been calmer and you know he likes to keep to himself but you never thought he looked out of place for a second. It's hard to imagine Rhysand and Cassian without his brother.

His eyes were trained on the city under you. His shadows had come back to him, almost covering him completely. Azriel was quiet for a while, long enough you thought he wouldn't even give you an answer. But then you feel a shield form around you, lest someone wanders in and hears his next words.

“Sometimes things and people change while you stay stuck in the same place,” his eyes meet yours as he talks and you search his expression for the rest of the story you know he won't tell. If there's one thing you hate about the shadowsinger is his ability to mask his emotions. His face was the perfect stoic mask as always.

It's not hard to understand what he meant. In less than a decade the inner circle almost doubled and some of the dynamics had likely changed with it. His brothers have found their mates, something every fae dreams of, and he was the odd one out. Even the Morrigan and Amren had found lovers in recent years.

You had heard some rumors he had taken a liking to the middle Archeron sister after pining for the lovely Morrigan for centuries, but she had also found her mate. Not even his methods of interrogation could make you admit you were avoiding the entire inner circle during that time. The hope you had felt upon realizing he wasn't looking at Morrigan like she hung all the stars in the sky was short lived and it only made you feel pathetic. You didn't understand why it had affected you so much. This was just a silly crush after all, you had never considered actually pursuing a relationship with the shadowsinger.

“I still don't understand how Amren got a lover before you.” You had meant to clear the heavy air between you but why your brain decided to use the millennia old creature to do so was beyond you. “I mean she's just…” you continue, startled by your own words, praying to the Mother that the shield he put up stopped Amren from hearing you, “Well, she's fae now but wasn't before and is still mildly terrifying, even after the transition, and you're so-” Wide eyes meet hazel and nothing could ever prepare you for the look on his face. The amusement shone bright in his eyes and in the teasing grin he wore. Just when you thought the shadowsinger couldn't get any more beautiful.

“I'm so?” He tilts his head a little as he asks the question. His shadows start almost dancing around him, like they can't wait to hear your thoughts on their singer. You clear your throat before continuing, trying to salvage some of your dignity.

“You're the Spymaster, the only known Shadowsinger. That's incredible, anyone would be lucky to have you.” Something flashes in his eyes and your mouth starts back up at the thought that it could be disappointment at the impersonal description. Azriel is much more than his role in this court and you can't let him think that's all you see in him.

“You're also one of the kindest people I've ever met. I've seen you worry over every single person in that room, putting their needs over your own even when you're also injured. You always keep your composure for them and give them your support. I've seen you around Velaris too, you're always respectful to everyone, even when they're a bit scared of you.” Eyes drag themselves back to the shiny stars in the night so you can keep going without wanting to jump off the balcony and making an even bigger fool of yourself. “Even as far as looks go... I would bet my house that if we walked down any of these streets we wouldn't find anyone that doesn't think you're stupidly handsome.”

“Stupidly handsome?” The amusement was dripping down his voice at this point. The smile was unmistakable in his tone and you couldn't hold yourself back from watching him any longer. You feel yourself relax at the grin plastered on his face. It isn't often that the shadowsinger shows any emotion at all, and you can't help the pride in knowing you put that gorgeous smile on his face, especially after the somber turn the conversation had taken earlier. You continue despite the warmth you feel in your ears, you'd compliment him for hours if it meant he wouldn't feel sad ever again.

“I've actually heard someone use those exact words to describe you.” You've thought it to be the most accurate description of the immense beauty the shadowsinger radiates ever since you heard the barista use it. Apparently she hadn't been born in Velaris and had taken up the job only a few days prior to serving the illyrian. She had barely held the compliment down long enough for Azriel to exit the building, shooting up into the sky. A few fae present couldn't contain the laugh at the fervent appreciation of the shadowsinger, but the air of agreement shared by everyone was unmistakable.

“I'll have to let my mom know,” there was laughter in his tone, “I'm sure she will be very proud that her son is receiving such compliments.” You hadn't known his mother was still alive which makes you think it's meant to be kept secret. You almost curse at the way your heart flutters. Stupid crushes.

“I'm sure she is very proud of you regardless.” He doesn't give away any hint of what might be going through his brain and it leaves you in a slight panicked fear of overstepping or having said the wrong thing. You could swear you saw a glint of disbelief but it was gone too fast for you to be sure. The idea that the Spymaster couldn't see his own mother being proud of him was ludicrous to you.

The nod he gives you doesn't give any of his thoughts away, but his shadows keep moving slowly around the balcony, never rushing to cover him.

“Why are you single then?” You know he's changing the subject but you don't have time to consider that when you realize it's your turn to answer the questions.

“Me?” You barely register the slight nod he gives to show you he's expecting an answer. If you had shadows of your own they would have wrapped around you like a blanket until only the top of your hair was peaking out. “How do you know I am? Are you using your spies on me, Spymaster?”

“I have to be well informed of what happens in this city,” he searches your face just like you did to him, “And as the spymaster I'm more than familiar with deflection. You don't have to answer my question. Tell me if I'm overstepping”

“No. It's-” you cringe, trying to find the right words. “I just never found anyone special I guess.” Even talking about this with him has your heart swelling in your chest and you pray to the mother he can't pick up on any changes in your heartbeat. You've been avoiding this conversation with family and friends, but despite all this you know Azriel will understand and won't make fun of your feelings. It feels safe talking to him. “I get really busy sometimes so it's hard to keep up a proper relationship, even with friendships. Sometimes people need more time than what I can give them.” You try not to think of all the times you didn't measure up to other people's expectations, when they didn't see you as enough for the trouble.

“They're idiots for letting you go.” You don't know if he's being polite in not mentioning how your heart keeps speeding up or if he thinks you're drunker than you are, but you thank every deity you can think of that he doesn't say anything.

“Some things just aren't meant to be.” You hope he doesn't insist on this conversation. There isn't much else to say and you'd rather not keep talking about how many times you'd gotten dumped. You consider pointing out he never gave you a reason for being single and that he was the one actually deflecting, but you don't want to push what clearly isn't an easy topic for him to discuss either. You suspect Azriel barely opens up with anyone, so you'll just treasure the brief look into his heart he allowed you before.

The rest of your night is spent with the shadowsinger, sitting in that balcony, watching the stars and talking about anything. The next day you'll sit in bed mortified, thinking about how you were doing most of the talking while he listened, but he had seemed content enough so you couldn't have been too annoying. When the party ended you had said your goodbyes to your hosts, without the previous nerves after your conversation with the shadowsinger. Feyre had even asked you if you were alright because she also noticed you leaving in the middle of the party, though something about the glint in her eyes told you she had gotten the wrong idea. Then Azriel had flown you down the steps and winnowed you to your front door - even though you could do it yourself. Maybe you'd have to rethink calling the inner circle your friends.

[anchoeritic]

dbf! joel bending you over your kitchen counter and hitting it from the back🥱👹

inviting him in for breakfast when your dad’s not home and it leads to something more than toast & eggs. there was tension, it was always present between you and joel. it was even worse that he was your neighbour so you had to see him everyday before heading out. he was much older, but that man ages like fine wine on a friday night. you could say you had a tiny crush on him, there was no doubt about it. you just didn’t realize he would act on it as quick as he did; reciprocate the feelings and fill up the empty patch in your spirited heart. oh, and bend you over your kitchen counter.

“shh, i gotcha..” he has your head pressed on the cold marble with one hand, the other was wrapped around his cock and tapping your sensitive clit with the tip. “goddamn it, you’re s’gorgeous.” you could hear the volume of his low groans when he gets a good look at your pussy, praying to god that he’ll get to catch this sight another time again. you were whining against the counter, the thirst for his cock to fill in your guts couldn’t be ignored anymore.

“need you, joel..” you whine, trying to move your hips backwards onto him, “please, no more teasing.” he only lets out a dry laugh in response, leaning in to press a tender kiss to your spine. his bulge was pressed against your slit, sliding more in between every time he leaned closer on top of you. “but that’s the fun part, sweetheart.” a whimper escapes your lips as you look at him from the corner of your eye, sending him a pleading look.

but before you knew it, he had you moaning for him to stop as his hips thrusted hard against yours. the sound of your skin slapping together bounced off the walls, adding onto the loud cries of your begging. “i know you got one more in you, cupcake,” he grips harder at your throat, pulling your back right to his front. you shook your head, feeling your legs start to tremble beneath you again. “give me one more before daddy comes home, yeah? i know you can do it, baby.”

[pinknatural]

After googling “what to take to a stranger’s birthday party” and reading the top five articles thoroughly, the first two more than once, Castiel has determined that he should either bring candles, wine, or baked goods. 

A candle seems like a good, safe option, but the Walmart candle aisle is overwhelming. How is he supposed to know if Anna’s-friend-Dean likes oaky, woodsy smells versus lavender-linen smells? Castiel likes the one that smells like a waxy apple pie, but who’s to say that opinion is shared? What if he prefers pine, or something called Deep Twilight Mist? Castiel removes the lid for Deep Twilight Mist and smells the cream-colored wax curiously. It smells like the perfume Hael used to spray everywhere when she was eleven. He puts it back on the shelf. 

There’s a candle that smells like cupcakes. It is a birthday party, so perhaps he would like that. Castiel puts it in the blue plastic basket dangling from his arm, then puts it back on the shelf, tilting it so the label is facing perfectly outward. Maybe Anna’s-friend-Dean doesn’t like candles at all. 

Wine. Everyone likes wine. Well, unless Anna’s-friend-Dean is one of those guys who thinks wine is too feminine. Or if he doesn’t drink at all. Or if he drinks too much. Or, perhaps even worse, if he’s some kind of wine connoisseur and will mock Castiel for buying reasonably-priced wine from Walmart and then blacklist Castiel so thoroughly that he will never find a friend in this town. 

Wine and candles are too complex. But everyone likes baked goods. 

Castiel is stopped in the middle of the road, turn signal blinking to indicate that he would like to turn left into his apartment complex, when he realizes that Anna’s-friend-Dean could be diabetic. But the party is at a restaurant that specializes in hamburgers, so probably not. Hopefully not. All Castiel has to do is successfully implement chocolate chip cookies and then melt into the walls at the party. Be pleasant enough company that next time someone has a large event they allow Anna to invite him again. Go to enough social functions that he can claim to have friends and get Anna off his back. Live quietly, working at the Gas-N-Sip and writing papers about the science of Theology and perhaps even going to the library and reading secular fiction.

Castiel has no expectations of finding actual friendship at Anna’s-friend-Dean’s birthday party. Or ever, really. If he ever gets lonely, he can get a cat.

Anna thinks that Castiel and Dean will get along very well. Castiel thinks that living outside of their mother’s influence has made Anna believe in fairytales. Anna has known Castiel his entire life. She knows full well that he has never gotten along very well with anyone. 

Castiel cracks an egg over the batter. Maybe this whole baking thing will impress Anna so much that she’ll stop bothering him about making friends. 

Who knows, maybe these cookies will unlock something else to add to Castiel’s quiet life. He quite likes the idea of baking.

--

The firefighter is very beautiful. Maybe even the most beautiful person Castiel has ever seen, besides models on the sides of buildings who look so perfect they’re fake.

“You the guy who started the fire?” the beautiful firefighter asks. He puts his hands in his pockets. Castiel’s cheeks burn. Not from any fire. 

“They were just burnt cookies,” he says. “I didn’t know they would set off the smoke alarm.” In the entire building. The other firefighters are by the doors, writing things down, talking to other residents of Castiel’s building. How come the beautiful firefighter was the one who had to talk to Castiel? He sneaks a peek at the man’s arms, but they’re sadly covered by his coat. 

“You burned the cookies on purpose, then?” the firefighter raises an eyebrow. 

“Of course I didn’t,” Castiel says. The firefighter has green eyes and freckles splashed across his nose. Castiel wants him to take off his helmet so he can see what his hair looks like. 

“Right,” the firefighter says. 

“Am I in trouble?” Castiel asks. 

“No,” the firefighter says. He winks. Castiel feels his heart literally skip a beat. “Not a crime to burn cookies. Losing out on the cookies is punishment enough.”

“They weren’t for me,” Castiel says. “They were for a birthday party. Tonight.” For some reason, he wants the firefighter to know that he has a social life. Never mind if the social life was enforced upon him by his older sister.

“A birthday party? Today? Who’s hosting? I gotta fight for my honor.”

Castiel is baffled. What honor? What fight?

“What?”

“Everyone will come,” the firefighter says. He makes a pose, as if he’s flexing. “To see me and this other guy fight to see who’s the Supreme Birthday Boy.” He stretches one arm out, pointing it to the sky, then he opens his fist. “Pow! It’ll be me, of course.” He turns to look back at Castiel. His mouth is very pink. Castiel wishes he understood what words were coming out of it. 

“It’s my birthday, too,” the firefighter says after a moment, when Castiel doesn’t react.

“Oh,” Castiel says. “Why didn’t you just say that?”

“I dunno. Trying to be funny, I guess.”

“Oh,” Castiel says again. Behind the firefighter, he sees that the other residents of his apartment building are filing back inside. For some reason, despite the January chill, Castiel doesn’t want to go back in. Not yet. 

“You know, usually this is the part where people say happy birthday,” the firefighter says. 

“Happy birthday,” Castiel repeats. 

“Thanks!” the firefighter beams. “So do you think I should crash your friend’s party tonight?”

“No,” Castiel says, alarmed at the thought. A firefighter, and probably a bunch of other firefighters, crashing Castiel’s opportunity to stand beside the wall, holding a cup of sprite? When Castiel shows up with store-bought baked goods? And this beautiful firefighter will point right at him and say that Castiel invited them and then Anna’s-friend-Dean will hate him forever, and probably Anna will too? “Also, he’s not my friend.”

“He’s not? Then why are you going to his party?”

“He’s my sister’s friend,” Castiel explains. “I’ve never met him. She thinks I need to leave the house more.” Too late, Castiel remembers that he was supposed to pretend he had a flourishing social life. Oops. 

“Wait,” the firefighter says. His eyes sparkle. “Are you Anna’s brother? Cas-something?”

“Castiel,” he says, with the patience of someone who has had to explain his name a million times. He narrows his eyes. “How did you know that?”

“Dude,” the firefighter says, laughing. “I’m Dean.”

Anna’s-friend-Dean is a beautiful firefighter, with green eyes and freckles? Anna’s-friend-Dean is the Supreme Birthday Boy? Anna’s-friend-Dean probably has very muscular arms, under his uniform?

“Oh,” Castiel says. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too,” the firefighter says. 

“Winchester! Wrap it up!” one of the firemen calls from the truck. Castiel realizes that all the firefighters are about to leave, and everyone from his building is already back inside. When did that happen?

“Be there in a minute!” Dean hollers over his shoulder. When he looks back at Castiel, he grins almost shyly. “You were gonna make me cookies?”

“Yes, I--I thought it would be an appropriate thing to bring.” Castiel wonders again if Dean could be diabetic. Or perhaps allergic to something in chocolate chip cookies. Are chocolate chips made in a peanut-free facility? Maybe Castiel should’ve bought wine, after all.

“Hell yeah,” Dean says. “Whoever said that the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach was dead-fuckin’-on. But, uh.”

“But?” Castiel is sure, suddenly, that Dean is about to reject him and tell him not to come to his birthday party after all. Which would be a shame, because all of a sudden Castiel wanted to go.

“My favorite dessert is pie,” Dean says like a confession. 

“Oh,” Castiel says, eyes widening. Maybe he can swing by the bakery--maybe he can look up a bakery, and then swing by it--on the way to the party. Assuming he’s still going. 

“And, uh, not to toot my own horn, but I make a pretty mean one. I actually made myself a birthday pie, and I was gonna eat it alone, but maybe…I mean…”

“Yes?” Castiel asks. Dean is slightly taller than him, so he tilts his head back to meet his eyes. Dean swallows. Castiel watches his adam’s apple bob.

“Well, I could swing by after my shift is done,” Dean says. “Bring it with me. We could share. Before we go to the Roadhouse, I mean. If you want.”

“I want,” Castiel says before he can think about it. He snaps his mouth shut. Dean brightens. 

“Great,” he says. “I’ll be back. After my shift.”

“When does it end?” Castiel asks. Dean looks at his watch. He grins at Castiel, tongue poking between his teeth.

“Twenty minutes,” he says. 

“Okay,” Castiel says. “I will you soon, then.”

“Yep,” Dean says. “Gimme about an hour, okay? And then we’ll have pie.” 

“Okay,” Castiel says. Dean turns to head back to the firetruck. “What kind of pie?” Cas calls after him. Dean turns. 

“Apple!” he calls. Castiel stands outside, in the January chill without his coat, for a long while after the truck leaves. What a strange man, making his own birthday pie. What a lovely man, sharing it with a stranger. Supreme Birthday Boy, indeed.

--

When Dean returns, in a soft flannel shirt with sleeves rolled up, revealing his magnificent forearms, his hair a spiky mess that Castiel wants to run his fingers through, he has, as promised, an apple pie. And Castiel has a present for him. 

When Dean opens it, he laughs until he almost cries. He lights it right away, and the lingering aroma of burnt chocolate chip cookies is chased away by the apple pie candle from Walmart, a bright, steady little flame flickering between them.

(ao3)

[astridthevalkyrie]

honeymoon period | jumin han x reader

After Jumin marries you, slowly, his threads start to untangle.

a/n: my first and probably last long jumin fic. this has been in the works for months, literally what i've been stalling on superior for (pre keigo 😭) i hope you all enjoy! i love this man <3

warnings: afab reader with she/her pronouns, some depressing thoughts, smut, oral (m and f receiving), penetrative sex, references to kinks that they both have, references/nightmares about abuse including sexual harassment, insecurity, jumin's comedy lol

word count: 13.2k (only a little less than the last superior chapter that is cray cray)

There is a knock on your door.

It makes you jump. Not that you’re nervous—it’s a hotel and several of your friends and family are here to see you get married, so naturally many of them know where your room is. The room itself is, of course, lavish, a paradise compared to most of your previous lodgings. Honestly, you miss the penthouse.

No, that’s not quite right. You just miss being curled up on the couch, tucked into Jumin’s chest with Elizabeth on your lap, wine on his lips and love in his eyes. You miss him, even though you saw him last this morning. You know he’s in the hotel lobby being forced to get wasted by Luciel, because the hacker in question has sent you dozens of videos of your fiancé. In one of them, when Zen reminds him he’s getting married tomorrow, a goofy smile breaks out on his face as he ducks his head.

Maybe the wedding wasn’t necessary. Maybe you two could have just signed the necessary papers without having to go a full day without seeing each other. How are you supposed to sleep tonight? You could call him, but it wouldn’t be the same.

Sighing, you make your way to the door. If it’s one of your friends trying to convince you to let loose or a family member coming to check up on you, you’re not in the mood.

When you open the door, your fiancé is standing there.

“Jumin!”

All questions on the tip of your tongue disappear when he brings you into his arms, burying his face in your neck with a content sigh. There’s no urgency in it, just a quiet, sudden happiness, like he’s fully aware that in just a few hours he won’t have to worry about you being anywhere but in his arms again.

“Thank you.” His voice breaks the silence, muffled on your skin. “For letting me love you, and for loving me.”

Your eyes well up with tears. What an emotional bride you’re turning out to be. And what a wonderful groom you have, to somehow know exactly what you need even when he’s not completely sober.

Slowly, you wrap your arms around him as well, breathing in the scent of his shampoo as you press a kiss to the top of his head.

“You’re welcome, Jumin.”

///

There has never been a lovelier sight than your smile, and Jumin hopes you know that.

If you don’t, he’ll just have to convince you.

“Hi, sweetheart.” You’re sporting a grin for him—just for him—wearing nothing but one of his shirts with Elizabeth the Third scurrying out from between your feet when she sees him. There’s a pink bottle on the counter. Frosting, he thinks. “I hope you don’t mind, but having a chef cook for us for a month straight has ruined my palate for anything else. I had to cook for myself again before I got spoiled. I can call him to make you dinner if you don’t want to eat what I made, though!”

“Of course not.” The urge to embrace you is unbearable. A month after the wedding, and his first day back at work after the honeymoon, he still can’t seem to keep his hands off. “What did you make? I’ll eat anything.”

He leans down to take Elizabeth the Third in his arms, scratching the back of her head softly. “Alright! I made stew and baked some cupcakes, I hope you like it. But you should probably change first. Slip into something more comfortable.”

“Ironic, considering you and I are wearing the same thing.”

“Well…” You lean over the counter, making a show of ogling him. “If you really want to match, you can leave the shirt on and take off your pants.”

It’s impossible to even try and stop the smile growing on his face. “Would you like that?”

“Come over here and find out, hubby.”

The nickname makes him flush pleasantly, but instead of taking you up on that extremely tempting offer, he simply walks up and presses a kiss to your forehead. You pout, and with the tact of knowing Elizabeth is still in his arms, you tug on his tie and kiss him properly. Jumin’s brain turns off, if only for a few seconds. As long as you kiss him and he kisses you back, the only thing he knows is you, you, you and nothing else.

Now, instead of changing, he’s holding his cat and kissing you in the kitchen. With just a minor breakaway and murmured apology, he’s no longer holding his cat. His hands slide around your back and pull you in, and your hands meet at the base of his neck. You. Only you. 

“Ju-min,” you admonish breathlessly, the second he pulls away to trail hurried kisses down your neck. “Dinner first.”

“Mm. I’m not hungry.” Or he is, but not for dinner.

Your hands come to rest on his chest, but you don’t pull away, and Jumin is beyond grateful. He doesn’t want to eat, doesn’t want to sleep or shower or do anything else when he could be showing you just how much he’d missed you at work today. 

Slightly pressed into the counter, you place your hands back and jump onto it, and he eagerly steps in between your legs to kiss you again. Your legs wrap around his waist and your hands tangle in his hair—a habit of yours, he’s noticed, to mess his hair up. He doesn’t mind. Not if it makes you happy. 

Finally, you pull away and before he can dive back in for yet another kiss, you dip your finger into the bowl next to you and offer it up to him. Without even considering it, he takes your finger in between his lips and licks the gravy off.

It’s only after he registers the taste does Jumin realize how intimate the action is. And of course, he knows that you’re married, that you and he have seen each other absolutely bare and open to one another, that he is literally making out with you in his—in your—in your shared kitchen. He knows that despite everyone thinking that the marriage was rushed and impulsive, this will be a long road, and he plans to stick by you for each and every single step. He knows that tasting something off your finger is hardly the most domestic thing you two will do.

But it doesn’t stop the flurry of butterflies he feels in his stomach. It doesn’t stop him from thinking my wife is letting me taste what she made, because she’s perfect. That’s not to mention how wonderful the taste actually is.

“Good?” you question, with gleaming eyes.

“Incredible.” He takes your hand and dips your finger in the bowl, stealing another taste right after. “More than incredible. The best stew I’ve ever had.”

“I know you’re flattering me.” Leaning forward, you take his face in your hands, brushing your thumbs over his cheeks. Softly, gently, like he’s something fragile that will break if you use any force. “But I’m not complaining. Keep going.”

“Food is always better when a beautiful woman is the one serving it.”

You beam. The butterflies in his stomach do a victory soar.

Jumin Han is in love.

///

Zen has a dream about you. That’s when the problem starts.

He tells it to the group in great detail—it’s not anything romantic or sexual, but Jumin doesn’t see a reason for you to be in his subconscious at all, even if you were just the supposed director for Zen’s dream movie. You’re not any sort of movie director, so the dream is ridiculous at any rate.

It doesn’t stop him from pouncing on you the second you two get back home. You don’t even get to take a seat before he’s pressing you against the door, ensuring it’s locked (the last thing he needs is for one of the security guards to see this and have dreams about you too) and kissing you possessively. 

“Jumin—?” There’s a question on the tip of your tongue, but it cuts off into a delicious moan when he starts sucking and biting all the same spots he knows he left hickeys on during your honeymoon. 

“Spend the day with me,” he whispers. “Just me, no one else.”

An amused giggle bubbles from your throat. “I was already gonna do that, honeybunny.”

Good. That’s plenty of time for him to mark up your neck (and other places) so that everyone knows you’re his, and other people can stop dreaming of you. Already his mind is filled with wicked thoughts, of how he can make you cry and beg and scream today. From the time you two spent on your honeymoon, he knows you can get quite loud if he puts his mind to it.

The only limit is his imagination.

“Jumin.” Your head tilts back against the door, eyes closed as his tongue soothes a bite mark he just made. “Ah, J-Jumin, are you jealous?”

“No.” He is.

“I know what possessiveness looks like.” You take his hand in yours and press a kiss to each fingertip. “You know that me being in Zen’s dream isn’t something in our or even his control?”

“Of course I know that.” He huffs, impatiently fiddling with the buttons on your shirt. “That doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

He kisses you again, and you hum in understanding, sliding your arms around his neck and pulling him in closer. It’s amazing, no matter how many times he thinks everyone would dismiss him for being ridiculous over something like this, you are always there to prove that at least one person wouldn’t. And you taste. So. Damn. Good. 

So why not taste you all over? Jumin hungrily slides his tongue over your teeth, seeking entrance. When your mouth parts for him, he tastes you intimately, swallowing your soft sighs. 

“For the record,” you mumble, out of breath, “I only ever dream about you.”

“As do I, darling.” He pulls you closer still, thinking about how good you’ll taste when he has his mouth on your pussy. “As do I.”

///

This need to prove himself to you extends beyond the sexual—you laugh so much when you’re around Luciel and Yoosung. Actual laughter that is so different from the polite smiles and chuckles that are in response to his own words.

He hates it. He hates it so very much. He wants to make you laugh, full blown and unabashed. As much as he likes making you giggle, he wants to make you laugh so hard that there are tears pouring down your cheeks. And his experience has quite readily set him up for the expectation that if he wants something, he will have it.

And now, what he really, really wants is to see his wife lose her in laughter because of him.

That means it’s time to bring out the big guns.

Right now you’re under the covers, reading glasses on as you flip through a book. The book in question is something from his personal library (when he showed it to you, mentioning a scene from Beauty and the Beast, you had promptly told him that he was not a beast, but that you finally understood how the princess felt in that scene). 

To an extent, Jumin feels bad when he distracts you from work or requests your attention. But he tries to remind himself that if you didn’t want it, you were more than capable of telling him as much. And your reaction to him crawling on top of you with his arms on either side would certainly not be to put the book aside and pull him down to lay on your chest with a kiss to the crown of his head.

For once in his life, Jumin is certain that he is loved.

“I have a joke,” he tells you matter-of-factly, and your brow raises.

“What is it?”

Taking a deep breath, he raises himself up so he can take a good look at your face.

“Hit Seoul, hit Daejon, hit Daegu, hit Busan, hit it!”

There’s a long pause, and your surprised expression slowly morphs into a giggle, then at his grin, a chortle. Jumin laughs first, and then you do too, throwing your head back. It’s single-handedly the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard in his life.

“W-what—“ You’re wheezing now, shoulders shaking. “What does that even mean?”

“I cast a spell on you. Those who laugh are no ordinary souls, for your information.”

“You are so perfect.” The praise catches him off guard, but your body is still shaking from laughter, and in your eyes he sees something like adoration. “How are you so perfect?”

That is definitely not a word he associates with his humor. His status, money, company, business acumen? Yes, perfect, as they were always meant to be. But the little flips in his stomach tell him that none of those things are what you’re referring to. The look in your eyes—he never sees you look at material objects or money that way. He has only ever seen it aimed towards him, and Jumin realizes with a start that there is no need to compete with Zen or Yoosung or Luciel—because really, there is no competition to begin with.

///

Being a workaholic comes with benefits. Everything always gets done. And he enjoys doing business, so there is no negative side effect…other than the lost time that could be spent with his wife. Typing away on the computer he has set up in his study, Jumin sighs, cracking his neck every half hour or so. He’s been at it for hours, but there’s still more left to do.

A soft knock makes him look up. You peek your head in, blinking sleepily and all wrapped up in a blanket. “Sorry to disturb,” in a whisper that barely reaches his ears, “can I sleep here, honey?”

Jumin beckons you in, looking around dubiously. “I’m sorry, I don’t think there’s any surface here you’d be comfortable on. I don’t want you to have an ache by tomorrow morning.”

“Oh, that’s okay.” Your eyes keep blinking closed, as though you’re barely staying awake. All your words are hushed, but you still manage to clamber over to his side of the desk, blanket in tow, and fall onto his lap, burying your face in his chest. 

With a start, he catches you, holding you close. “What is it, sweetheart? You can’t sleep?”

You shake your head, getting even more comfortable. “The bed’s too cold.”

Something indescribable squeezes his chest. Above everything, the pleasure that you would rather seek warmth from him rather than get another blanket is all-consuming. Without another word, he stands with you in his arms and walks to the bed. The second he steps into the bedroom, your grip on him becomes a little tighter.

He huffs back a small laugh. “I’m not going anywhere. I’d just rather you sleep here.”

Pulling out a second blanket from the closet for good measure, he lays down on the bed with you, throwing both blankets over your bodies before wrapping you up in his arms. You sigh happily, legs mixing with his and face pressing in his chest once more.

“Sorry for distracting you.” Now your voice is barely audible. “Mm…you’re just…so much warmer…”

“Can I ask you a favor?” You hum softly in response. “Please never apologize for demanding my attention. I am yours, that includes my body, my soul, and my time. Should you ever need me to sleep and I am in the office, please call me and I’ll come home immediately. I’ll take the jet home if I have to. That doesn’t just stop at my time either. If there is anything, anything, you would like, then all you have to do is ask me. I’ll buy you anything. The world is at your disposal.”

There’s a pause and Jumin thinks you’ve fallen asleep, but then you break the silence, quietly asking, “Is it okay if I ask you for something, then?”

“Anything.”

Cute but glossy eyes peer up at him, and you blink rapidly. “A kiss?”

Jumin places his hands on your cheeks, catching the stray tear that falls. Then he leans in, and everything is right with the world.

///

Ice Prince.

Jumin has no idea where the title actually came from. He doesn’t see what’s wrong with someone having control of their emotions. Is he expected to cry or rage at every little thing? That’s a genuine question. Maybe he doesn’t show much emotion at all, and he should. He’s open to advice.

It shouldn’t even be on his mind. He’s watching a soap opera, and the most beautiful woman in the world is in his arms. He enjoys watching your reactions more than watching the show itself, whether you’re holding back an aww or wincing. Every so often, you look up and meet his eyes, giving him a sweet smile each and every time before placing your head back on his chest. 

Still, he can’t get the article he read earlier out of his head. Has the Ice Prince really settled down? What kind of life does the new Mrs. Han lead? One can only imagine that she does not get many warm moments with Jumin Han. A speedy divorce would not be surprising.

Just the thought makes him tug you in closer, the idea of you leaving never failing to terrify him. He’s gotten better, he doesn’t freak out over you exiting the penthouse or hanging out with friends or working. He’d told himself harshly that he would not drive you away with his overt possessiveness.

But maybe he’s going to drive you away if he can’t learn to show you his emotions and instead continues to be…well, an ice prince, as much as he hates the term.

“Jumin.” You’re pressing a kiss to his throat, breaking him out of his thoughts. “Are you tired, honey? We can go to bed.”

When he looks down, you’re gazing concernedly up at him. He doesn’t feel like a villain when you look upon him like this. And holding you close is not the only privilege he has here. Taking your face in his hands, he kisses you, and you melt in almost immediately. Jumin knows that you’re starting to get sleepy because you don’t make any move to straddle him further.

The man who knows you best—that is what the articles should be about. Doting husband. Family man. Your partner. How could anyone think he was cold or heartless to you?

“Juju,” you mumble softly, not bothering to break the kiss, “we should get to bed.”

Yes, you’re right. However…

“May I ask you a question?” His curiosity and slight anxiousness requires him to make sure. If he’s ever done anything to make you think he’s some kind of robot, he needs to get rid of such behavior immediately.

Your lips quirk like he’s said something funny. “You may.”

“Have I ever seemed…cold to you?” Almost as if to remind you before you answer, he holds your hand, squeezing gently, while the other hand remains on your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin softly. “Since we’ve been together, I mean. Have I ever acted anything like an…” Jumin cringes just saying it out loud. “Ice prince?”

The question seems to take you aback, and you blink a few times. Your eyes—warm, beautiful eyes—first stare at him with a certain confusion, then quickly become infused with a sudden anger.

“Did someone say that about you? Who was it?”

“No one,” he responds, then hastily amends, “there have always been articles calling me that. I just happened to see one today, so it was on my mind.”

Now, you really do straddle him, threading your fingers through his hair. The anger has dulled into a stubborn crossness. With a deep scowl, you kiss his forehead and say, “That is ridiculous. You have been nothing but warm to me, Jumin Han.”

The same warmth you’re talking about spreads across his cheeks, painting them pink, but you’re not done.

“Since when do you care about those articles anyway? They’ve always been inane. Remember when everyone was convinced that you would marry Sarah?” Here you huff, and he hates to admit that he loves seeing you jealous, even if over someone he never even considered getting to know. “And you had to set them straight for them to print anything accurate. Maybe I should give a press statement of my own. Ice Prince my ass.”

“Such language,” Jumin says lowly, already hiding his face in your neck. You’re still peeved, muttering things under your breath as you stroke his hair, angry kisses pressed to his skin in the middle of your rant.

Eventually, you tire yourself out, falling asleep right there on his chest, a common occurrence. He doesn’t mind it one bit, it’s actually really easy to carry you to bed. For some reason, Jumin feels much, much lighter.

///

His wife is a party planner. An event planner, technically, since you’ll take some requests for meetings as well, but it’s mostly parties. He knows that due to your marriage, there’s been an increase in the amount of clients wanting you to plan their events. Even before, you’d said your schedule had always been sporadic, revolving around whatever the current most pressing event was.

Frankly, he shouldn’t be surprised, with how masterfully you pulled off the RFA party. 

He’s more than proud of you, of course. He’s now attended quite a few of the events you put together, and it always leaves him impressed. You’ve confided in him about how you’d like to either switch to a company that exclusively does weddings or start your own, and despite your protests, he’s fully prepared to finance such an endeavor when the time comes.

The only issue about your job, and his job as well, is that your schedules can be sporadic. There are days where you can work without even leaving the penthouse, and then there are days where you are running around and don’t return until 2 AM. Jumin can hardly get upset when he’s taunted the clock with his record times at coming home as well.

Can’t get upset at you, that is. Being upset at the situation is perfectly reasonable. He wants to spend time with his wife, dammit. You’re his favorite person in the world, all the things he wants to do involve being with you.

So when he’s the one who’s arriving at 2 in the morning, he deflates to see that you’re fast asleep, a couple documents and your phone in the bed next to you. How many times has he told you he would set up a separate room for you to work in? Each time, you shake your head and say all you need is your phone and laptop, and you can work anywhere. That doesn’t take into account your health, though. The place you relax should not be associated with work, or it leads to a less relaxing sleep cycle. He once read a study about that.

It might be hypocritical, but Jumin misses you. He wants to talk to you so badly it pains him, and not just longing phone calls that always leave him wanting more.

Loosening his tie, he waits for a second before falling hard onto the bed.

Your eyes flutter open immediately, and in your daze you take in your still-dressed husband. With a sleepy smile, you push away all the papers next to you to snuggle into his arms. “Welcome home.”

“Thank you.” One arm secured around your back, he pulls you as close to him as you can. He sees you breathe in his lingering cologne, and it makes him downright giddy that his scent seems to bring you comfort. “Shouldn’t a loving wife be waiting up for her husband?”

You yawn, throwing one leg around him. “Not when the husband returns at an ungodly time and the wife has an early morning site inspection. Did you have dinner?”

“I did. Did you?”

“Mmh. Yeah. I refrigerated some in a container if you wanna take it to work tomorrow.” 

This is one of his favorite domestic things you do—and he doesn’t even think you realize how much he appreciates it. If it’s between having something from a five star restaurant or having your cooking, the latter will win each and every time. Sometimes he wants to brag  to the whole world, although the most he’ll do is slip how tasty his lunch was today to Assistant Kang (who will almost always respond with a dry, “Glad to hear that, Mr. Han.”).

“I will.” Jumin kisses your lips, smiling when he feels you respond with little effort. “I’ve missed you.”

Your arms snake around his waist as you tuck your head under his chin. Jumin sighs when he feels you kiss his collarbone. “I’ve missed you too.” All he needs is your breath on his skin, or your hands on his face, or your voice filling his ears. It relaxes him instantly. “What’s your schedule like tomorrow?”

“I’ll be in the office all day.” Already he groans, burying his face in your hair in the hopes that it will preemptively soothe the headache sure to form tomorrow. At first he didn’t understand why you insisted on using the same hair conditioner you always did instead of a much more expensive one he could buy for you, but the smell of your hair is so exquisite that now he wholly prefers it (although there is a special kind of tingling in his chest reserved for the moments you smell like him). 

“Same. After my inspection, I’m going to be meeting four new clients, and I’m going to guess they all want priority.” You roll your eyes, carding your fingers through his hair. “Tomorrow is also Mr. Wang’s wedding, so I’ll be back late.”

At his wordless whine, you giggle, kissing his cheek. Then after a few seconds of thoughtful silence, a soft hum sounds from your throat.

“I have an idea.”

///

The click of Jaehee’s heels alerts him to her entrance, and Jumin straightens in his chair, accepting the papers that she hands him. 

“Thank you. Have you eaten, Assistant Kang?”

Jaehee blinks at him once, then twice, like he’s grown an extra head. Then she slowly nods, the surprised expression melting back into her perfectly professional one once more. “Yes, sir. And you?”

“Not yet. I brought a container my wife packed for me.”

“Honey, I don’t think she really cares to know that.”

“I see. She is a pretty good cook if I recall correctly.”

“Everyone cares,” Jumin insists. 

“Excuse me?”

“You’re so sweet, it’s annoying. I want to kiss you all the time.”

“Mr. Han, are you alright? You look a bit out of it—should I call for a doctor?”

“Do it.” He smiles at the papers in his hands. “I won’t stop you.”

“Call…call the doctor?”

“Will you kiss me back, in front of all your employees?”

“Yes. Of course. Whatever you desire.”

“Right away, sir,” Jaehee responds in a sort of strangled voice, and it’s not until he hears the click of her heels again that he remembers she was there. In almost a flash, she leaves his office. 

“What did she say?”

Jumin touches the tiny earpiece that’s been on all day, adjusting it only slightly. “I honestly have no idea.”

///

Jumin hates leaving. But he does, well, what is the phrase? Hate to see you go, but love to watch you leave? Something along those lines, is what you’ve said to him. He’s not sure it applies here, since he is actually leaving to go abroad for a few days, and already he’s looking forward to his reunion with you, but he didn’t expect that both of you would be so needy for each other the night before the flight.

It starts with a few kisses, a pout on your lips that he thinks he can kiss away if he just tries hard enough. Telling you in hushed whispers that he’ll miss you an unfathomable amount. Your understanding on a pragmatic level, and your clinginess the second you both laid down. Both are appreciated more than he can say.

“What if I want to watch a movie with you?”

Kiss. “Just wait a week for me, my love.”

“What if the bed is too cold and I need you to warm me up?”

Kiss. “One week, I promise. No more than a week.”

“What if aliens invade the penthouse and I have no one to protect me?”

Kiss. “Tell them that your husband is going to kill them…in a week.”

For a few minutes, it goes on like this, with you proposing other scenarios and Jumin doing his best to both reassure you and make you laugh. He lays kiss upon kiss to your lips, and perhaps subconsciously, they become more ravenous, demanding. Seeking more. Seeking your conviction on just how much you will miss him.  

“Jumin,” you breathe into his mouth. Jumin, Jumin. He loves how you say his name.

You’re seeking something as well, the warmth that you are so certain will disappear along with him. On one hand, he hates that his princess has to sleep without him at all, especially when she clearly doesn’t want to. And on the other hand, knowing that you’ll be here, missing him so desperately, makes his heart flutter. You’ll miss him. You’ll miss him.

Within moments, you’re on top of him, seated on his lap and unbuttoning the buttons on his shirt. He’s responding in kind, leaving love bites on your neck as he slides your night robe off your shoulders. 

“What if I get lonely?” you ask, more demure than you actually are. “What if I need you, and my fingers aren’t enough?”

His hands press into your hips, hard enough to bruise. You mewl at the slight pain, and he manages to hiss, “I never want your fingers to be enough. If you wait for me, princess, I’ll make you cum more times than you can handle when I get back.” Even if just the idea of you sending him a video or even calling him as you touch yourself was incredibly appealing. Maybe next time. This week, he would have you think of nothing but his own fingers, his tongue, his cock.

And what better way to do that than to remind you how they feel?

“I’ll be gone seven days exactly.” Spoken more to your breasts than you, but he does gaze up at you reverently as he kneads them in his hands. “Maybe tonight I can make you cum once for every day I won’t be here. Would you like that?”

He jerks his thigh up against your core before you can answer, so you nod frantically, mouth falling open. “Uh huh!”

And who is Jumin to ever deny you?

///

The trip right before Valentine’s is the worst. It’s all Jumin can do to finish work before running like a madman through several different stores, picking up this and that. He insists on a different bag for each purchase, despite the clerks gently pointing out that he can put a lipstick tube in the same bag as a pair of heels and nothing will happen, but he doesn’t want to. He would like to see you open every item with a new spark of delight in your eyes.

Usually, he would return late at night, always opting to finish the day’s work and catch a flight right after instead of waiting for morning, because this way he would arrive home, gather you up in his arms as you slept soundly, and then bask in your surprise and delight when you woke the next morning. 

And this time would have been no different if one of the departments had not messed up, forcing him to wake up on Valentine’s Day still out of the country. After five days’ worth of work forced into two hours, a shopping spree and a quick call with you, he nearly takes the wheel from the pilot himself before Jaehee begs him to just sit and try to enjoy the ride home. The rest of the trip, they are engaged in a glaring contest every time she looks up from the video she is watching on her laptop. 

As soon as the door opens, he hears a surprised cry of his name, and then you’re barreling into him—all the bags in Jumin’s hands fall to the floor in favor of catching you and hefting you up in the air for a spin. 

“I thought—“ Kiss. “That you—“ Kiss. “Weren’t coming back today!“ Deeper kiss.

“I couldn’t miss my first Valentine’s with you, my love.” The deepest kiss of all.

The two of you only stop because his bodyguards are coming into the room after him, with more bags. Your eyes widen as you take in all of them, and your sharp mind has already pieced together what’s going on. “Is this all for me?”

“Of course.” Jumin knows that the way you’re latching onto him with such a tight grip is a more priceless gift than anything in these bags. “Why don’t you open everything? I wish to see your reaction.”

And so you do. The makeup, the shoes, the clothes, the jewelry, the books, the decor, all of fine quality and all things well thought out with your interests in mind. With every single item, no matter how big or small, you gasp, or squeal, or simply smile ever so widely. And without fail, you kiss him right on the lips each time.

Jumin is dizzy only halfway into the opening process—he must start buying you gifts far more often if this is the reward he gets.

However, you see beyond just his outward appearance, and you place the next bag he hands you aside without so much as a glimpse at it before clambering onto his lap. Hands on his cheeks, your thumbs smooth over where he’s sure eyebags are forming. “My poor Juju,” you whisper, “you look really tired, honey.”

Honey, honey, honey. How joyful he feels when you call him honey. “As always, you see right through me. I can’t hide from you, can I?”

“I never want you to hide from me.” A sweet kiss pressed to his cheek makes his stomach jump, like he’s a teenage boy with a crush. “Let’s lay down, shall we? We can finish opening everything afterwards.”

Jumin concedes, rising hand in hand with you until you’re both on the bed, curled up in each other. “What a terrible Valentine’s this turned out to be. I’m sorry, my love.”

Your arms wrap around his neck, kissing him slow, soft and smooth. “What are you talking about? You’re here where I can hold you, we’re both off work, and you’ve gifted me more than anyone else ever has or will in my life.”

“Good,” he says, satisfied that he’s set a standard that no one else can ever match for you. “But is that…enough?”

“Enough?” Your tone is incredulous. “Jumin, just you being here is more than enough. I love you so, so much, and I—“ You cut yourself off, slightly backing up as though you’re trying not to overwhelm him (a ridiculous notion, he would love nothing more than for you to overwhelm his every sense). “I cannot believe how lucky I am to have married you.”

This time he kisses you, the idea of sleep slipping further and further away because really, why should he close his eyes when he can only see you when they’re open? Why should he rob himself of the privilege to gaze upon your lovely face and listen to your quiet, soothing voice? Why should he do anything else, eat or drink or work or play, when he could simply kiss you for the rest of his life?

“I love you,” he breathes, pulling you closer because you simply can never be close enough. “Happy Valentine’s, my precious wife.”

///

Of course, the first time your schedule allows you to accompany him on a business trip he’s ecstatic. Finally a week without the headache of returning to an empty hotel room, and instead what will feel like more of a vacation, especially once he completes the necessary work and the two of you can spend the rest of the days lazing by the beach.

Because of the honeymoon, Jumin had become well acquainted with your fear of flying, and had arranged your seats in his private jet to be close together. As the jet takes off, he holds your hand in his as you squeeze, eyes shut tightly for the takeoff. Reassuringly, he kisses your hand, rubbing the back of it while his other hand strokes Elizabeth the Third’s head through the carrier she’s in. 

“Poor Elizabeth,” you manage to whimper, still looking quite pale even after the takeoff is done, “I hope she doesn’t get airsick.”

“She doesn’t,” Jumin reassures. Elizabeth is used to such flights, unlike you. He’d much rather you focus on your own health right now.

The stewardess for the flight comes through with the cart of food and drinks. “Anything for you, Mr. Han?”

“A glass of wine.”

“Of course, sir. And you, Mrs. Han?”

“Oh, um…” You smile sheepishly up at her. “Would you happen to have apple juice?”

The woman blinks once, then, as though she’s fighting back a laugh, says, “Apple juice, ma’am?”

“Is that a problem?” Jumin cuts in sharply before you can answer, glaring daggers.

“No, no! O-of course I can give you apple juice, ma’am, I didn’t mean to offend—“

“No offense taken.” Even nauseous and teased, you smile kindly, eyes lighting up when you have your drink. If he remembers correctly, he used to drink apple juice when he would get airsick as a child as well.

When the stewardess leaves, you lean over and press an apple-tasting kiss to his lips, and he catches a few drops of the juice in his mouth. It tastes yummy, or maybe it’s just the taste of you that he likes. 

Probably the latter. Either way, he’s eager to get this vacation started.

///

“I feel so good that you’re here. Thank you so much for coming. I…never want to let you go.”

…

“I’ve trapped you here, haven’t I?” he asks one night, after he thinks you’ve fallen asleep.

You’re wide awake, though, and he feels your lips on his throat as you whisper, “I’ve never once felt trapped with you, Jumin.”

///

You’re a lightweight, and it’s the most adorable thing Jumin has ever seen. Including cat photos. Including Elizabeth the Third. And you don’t realize just how cute you are, which only makes you cuter.

“Juju,” you whine, when he starts to guide you to bed.

“You have to sleep, my dear.” Almost smugly, he places a kiss to the tip of your nose. “Sleep and allow me to take care of you in the morning.”

The protest you seemed to be ready to fire back morphs into a happy giggle as you throw yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his midsection. “I do like when you take care of me.”

“Likewise.”

For some reason, that sends you into more giggles as you press against him. “You talk so smart like. I love when you use big words.”

Biting back a smile, Jumin raises a brow. “Is likewise a big word?”

“Anything is a big word when you say it.” You kiss him softly, sliding your hands in his hair. You love messing up his hair, almost as much as he loves letting you do it. “You’re so smart. So clever. Your brain is like…” To exaggerate your point, you lean your head away, with his hands on your back to keep steady. “Soooo huge.”

“Not the only thing,” he hums slyly.

“Jumin!” Laughing, you hit his shoulder, only for him to tug you in close, making you squeak. The only downside to how well you two know each other now is that he doesn’t get to see your beautifully embarrassed face, but he still gets some wins when he catches you off guard.

“I’m only kidding, my love.” Watching your lips part for him as he leans in, Jumin kisses you this time, gently sucking your lower lip between his teeth. Let no one say he wasn’t out and open with his oral fixation when it came to you. “I’m honored to know you find me intelligent.”

You beam, nearly blinding him with how brilliant your smile is. “Intelligent, and funny. So, so funny. I love your jokes.” Now you turn your cheek, placing sloppy kisses along his jaw. “And handsome. I have the most handsome husband in the world.”

Jumin, only now realizing the difference between being happy and being giddy and knowing he’s both, can only close his eyes, tilting his head back. “Ironic for you to say, considering no one with your beauty has ever existed before nor will exist again.”

The way your cheeks flush make him realize that he, too, must be quite tipsy. Surely his stomach does not flip so violently just to see how your eyes glow at his praise.

“I love you.” You swallow, and he watches the movement of your throat closely. “Do you know how much?”

He exhales, not having realized he inhaled before. “M-more than is reasonable, I presume.”

“A lot more than is reasonable,” you whisper before kissing him again. This one is different, he can tell. Something more desperate. More wanting. More likely to make him lose his mind.

How does he know? It’s because you’re not just kissing him, you’re also borderline riding the knee he’s slotting between your legs. With a whine, you tug on his collar, as though you want him closer. Need him closer. 

Losing his mind is just the beginning.

“Sit on the couch.” The tone with which you beg makes his already hardening cock twitch. “Please, Jumin.”

He obeys—how could he not obey?—and just the sight of you dropping to your knees to unbuckle his pants has him throwing his head back with a lustful groan. How did he get here? How did he get so lucky? 

You kiss the head of his cock, and Jumin is gone.

When you start bobbing your head, eagerly sucking with your eyes closed in concentration, it takes every inch of willpower he has ever had to not cum immediately, so that this can last. With every slow caress of your tongue, he can feel himself getting lost in his own base senses, every coherent thought fading away and leaving only an animalistic need.

“Princess,” he moans, fingers in your hair. His words escape him in a slurred, barely coherent manner. “I, ahh, won’t last—shit—”

Coming inside your warm, wet mouth is not in the top five moments he remembers when he thinks of his favorite times with you, because he likes to think he’s classier than that, but regardless, he’s never going to forget this.

///

Growing up, the one trait that he was always told to avoid and to find disdainful in others was laziness. There is nothing worse than a person who is not efficient. People who waste time just doing simple tasks are not worth his time, he was told.

But surely, surely, that does not apply to you. (Or maybe it’s a silly lesson in the first place, another one to add the list he has started to garner since he married you.)

It does not apply when you have to get up early for work and you sadly try cuddling with him in the five minutes you have left to remain in bed. Most days Jumin leaves before you, pressing a kiss to the lips of the princess in bed before heading out. Your parted lips in sleep do such a number on him that he has to make sure not to linger too long.

Days where your job demands you wake with him are no less enjoyable, and perhaps even more so as he gets to witness your clinginess. Jumin tugs you to the bathroom, where you close your eyes and rest your head on his chest as both of you brush your teeth. When you finally make it to the kitchen, he seats you on the chair by the counter and amuses himself by watching your sleepy eyes follow him while he makes a quick breakfast.

“Maybe I could eat ‘n your lap?” you ask cutely, poking at your scrambled eggs with a fork. 

“My dear,” Jumin answers, intertwining your fingers to kiss the back of your hand, “I would love nothing more, but you will fall asleep again.”

Not even an argument as you nod with a lazy smile, head falling forward on the counter. “I want to fall asleep again. How do you do this every day?”

“It’s what I’ve always done.” He’s finished with his eggs, so he stands, sweeping your hair aside to lean down and press a kiss to your nape. You squeal, squirming away as he catches you and tugs you to him, watching you immediately give up this play fight and snuggle into his chest to catch a bout of standing shut-eye. “Now come, Driver Kim is waiting to drop us both off.”

You shake your head, clutching onto him stubbornly.

“You can sleep on my lap in the car.”

And he feels inordinately pleased with how fast you move after that.

///

The days that he knows you will be at the penthouse when he returns, there’s always an extra breath in his steps, as if the air itself knows he must return home immediately.

Tonight, for example. He has a whole night planned. The two of you would cook the next thing to try on that list of recipes you printed and excitedly taped up in the kitchen, then after dinner he plans to play some soft music and waltz you around the rather spacious living room, and then both of you could go for a swim in the pool, and the night would end with you dozing off in his arms.

A perfect night. The kind he dreams about, the kind that he never can quite believe are real.

When he opens the door, he doesn’t hear any call of his name nor is he tackled in a hug, which only makes his shoulders deflate slightly. Elizabeth the Third softly mrrows at him from where she’s sitting on the couch. Placing a kiss atop her head, he pokes in to check a few rooms, searching for his wife. 

You’re nowhere to be found. The only place left to check is the bedroom. His sweetheart usually doesn’t fall asleep so early, though.

He opens the door, then freezes in his tracks.

With a couple of candles lit up around the room, you sit on the bed, nothing on except the set of lingerie he ordered a few weeks ago at your request, black as the night sky (“because it reminds me of you”). A few pillows support you as you lean back, eyes trained on him. There’s a glass of wine in your hands, and another on the table next to you clearly reserved for him. 

You take a small sip, and some drops purposefully miss your lips and slowly drip down your neck, down over the swell of your breasts.

“Care to join me, husband?”

Jumin swallows.

None of his plans end up coming to fruition that night, and he doesn’t mind one bit.

///

(You’ve pointed out how the most random things turn him on—when you wear his clothes, but specifically his striped shirts, when you let him buy something ludicrously expensive for you, when you do simple things to take care of him, when you wait for him at home after work, cat ears—cat ears, cat ears, cat ears!—and the rare moments where he gets to see you pissed off.

But he’d only responded how the things you were into were equally as random—seeing him disheveled after a hard day’s work or a visit to the gym, the way he answered business calls simply by saying Jumin Han speaking, what do you need, and every time you’re naked on his lap while he’s fully clothed. 

Shall I remind you how desperate you get, my dear? he growls into your ear. Your cheeks flush, and Jumin reaches for the ribbon in the drawer, even more impatient than you are.)

///

There are other times where Jumin will arrive home and if you aren’t leaping into his arms, kissing him full on the lips as he spins you around or pins you to the wall depending on the mood, you’re sitting on the couch, typing away on your laptop either for your job or for the RFA.

In those moments, he finds himself easily sliding his arms around you and burying his face in your neck, absolutely reveling in the subconscious way you rub his nape and kiss his hair.

Sometimes you both will exchange stories of your day, expanding on something a phone call simply couldn’t cover or something that perhaps you had wanted to say in person to fully soak in the reaction (you seem to particularly enjoy how he insults the difficult clients you tell him about). Other times, there is a serene silence, only broken by Elizabeth the Third’s purring and the clack of your keyboard keys. 

You smell so good, all the time. He wonders if he should be capitalizing on the perfume you use so that no one else can buy it. That way this scent would solely be yours, just like he is. Something about that idea blooms a warmth in his chest.

The best part of the night comes when you finish, closing the laptop and setting it aside before wrapping your arms around him. “I love you,” you say, only for his ears, just like how your lips are only for his skin, just like how your scent is only for his nose, just like how Jumin is only here to be yours entirely. 

///

In the past, when he’s fallen ill, he’s either ignored it or simply just taken the necessary amount of time to recover. The last time he was pampered like this was as a child by his nannies. And even their doting paled in comparison to yours (but then, didn’t everything, when it came to you).

Because this. This, is heavenly.

Every single ounce of your affection is solely for him. Your soup that you feed him, your fingers stroking his hair, your voice sweetly singing him to sleep. Your lips on his forehead, whispering, “How are you feeling, Juju?” 

Granted, because he’s sick, he can’t fully appreciate it without the feeling that his body is turning against him. But it’s worth it, it’s easily worth it.

So, the day that he wakes up with a low temperature, feeling absolutely fine, he still manages to cough pitifully and throw out the word to Jaehee that he simply has to take another day off.

You have a knowing smile on your face, but when he slips his arms around your waist, with his face buried in your neck, you still hold him just as warmly, and Jumin is so, so, so in love with you. Nothing could possibly stand to be better than this. One hand absentmindedly strokes his hair while you type on your phone with the other hand, communicating with someone from work. 

Your phone starts to ring; he only shifts minimally to get closer as you answer it. “Hey, what’s up?”

He can hear the person who called—it’s one of your friends. “Hey! Check your messages, I won that ukulele I told you I would win last time.”

The sound of your laugh is so melodious, he’d do anything to get drunk on it. “Win another one for me, I’ll hang it up in my closet.”

“Yeah, right.” Your friend snorts. “I wish you were able to come. It’s been so long since we’ve been here.”

“I know, but Jumin really doesn’t feel well. I couldn’t just leave him at home alone.” As though your friend can see, you plant a kiss on his forehead. “We’ll go another time, definitely.”

“I’ll hold you to it. Alright, I have to go. Give the husband all my love, I hope he feels better.”

“Will do. Bye, have fun!”

With that, you hang up, resuming the scrolling through your phone and the stroking of his hair. Jumin is still, for good reason. 

You had meant to go out with your friends today. And due to his not-actually-sick state, you had canceled on them.

Hadn’t he told you to put him second to your own self? But he can’t pin this on you, not when he was the one faking. A terrible feeling begins to rise in his chest, causing him to move away from you and stare at you with a guilty expression.

“Is your neck finally tired of…” You trail off when you look at him, furrowing your brows. “What happened?”

“You were meant to go out today.”

A small frown forms on your face. “Um…we made plans, yeah. But you were sick—“

“I wasn’t,” he confesses, ironically sick to his stomach. “I just wanted to take another day off and spend some time with you.”

“I know that.”

“I—you know?”

The frown on your face is replaced by a tiny smile, as you tug gently to bring him back into your arms. “You’re not exactly subtle.”

“Yes I am.” He pouts, still upset but more calm now that you don’t seem disappointed. 

“Honey, the one time I kissed your finger after you got a papercut, you somehow got a papercut on every finger the following week.”

Jumin blushes, but you’re not wrong—he just craves your attention. You simply make everything better.

“More importantly,” and now you pull him into your chest, settling back into the same comfortable position with a kiss on his forehead, “I’m faking just as much as you, because I love it when you do things like this. Why would I complain? I get to spend time with you.”

This is what it feels like, Jumin is certain, to be loved. To be cared for and adored so deeply that it leaves an ache in one’s chest. “The next time,” he murmurs, as your hand finds purchase in his hair once more, “The next time you would like to go out to an amusement park with your friends, please let me know. I can buy it out for the day.” A thoughtful pause. “Or forever.”

Another soft kiss, he’s tempted to keep going, to make more and more outrageous promises just to earn each and every press of your lips to his skin. “My friends will appreciate that. I think the park is already owned by C&R, actually.” You chuckle. “Some fast passes though? I wouldn’t say no.”

Fast passes? He’ll ask you what in the world those are just as soon as he finishes kissing you (something a fake sick person can, thankfully, afford to do).

///

A soft knock on the door. 

“Mother?” He makes sure to keep his voice to a polite volume. “I’ve played with all my toys. May I please come out now?”

Silence. 

Jumin clears his throat, trying his best not to look behind him, just three steps down. It’s dark down there, and he knows it is not logical to be afraid of the dark, but even the logic does little to quell the growing fear inside him. 

“Mother? It…it has been a few hours now.” Fourteen hours, he counted on the tiny clock that ticks a little too loudly in the basement. “May I please be let out? I’m starting to get hungry.”

That’s a lie, but he doesn’t think she’ll know. The truth is he began to get hungry hours ago, and is now close to starving. As if on cue, his stomach growls. 

Jumin knocks again, the dread he feels growing with every second. “Please, Mother, I’ll be good. I’ll play with my toys. I’ll be normal. Please let me out.”

None of it makes any sense to him. In all the books he reads, none of the mothers lock their sons up in the basement. But then maybe none of the sons are as strange and abnormal as he is. They didn’t need to be locked up like he did. 

Still, even if he deserves this, the loneliness is starting to scare him.

“Please.” Childish tears start to prick at his eyes. “Mother? I don’t want to be here anymore. I’m sorry. I’ll do better, I promise.”

The only response he gets is the silence, beckoning him to come back to the darkness where he belongs. With a trembling lip, he turns to face it once more.

The doorknob jiggles.

He whips his head back, not daring to believe it. Is this punishment finally over? 

The first thing he’s going to do after he eats is call Jihyun, ask him if he’d like to go to the park nearby. Anything to go outside, in the light, with other people. 

Except, to his horror, when the door finally opens, it’s not his mother standing at the top, but his stepmother.

“No,” Jumin whispers, stumbling back. He misses one step and trips, hands on the cement floor as he stares, terrified, at the woman. “Please, no. Where’s Mother?”

The woman at the top laughs, a sound that seems to make others happy but only serves to suffocate him further. He’ll choose to stay in the darkness for a hundred more hours before going upstairs to see her. “What’s this? Another woman in your life, Jumin? What a lady killer!”

He shakes his head desperately, as though to tell her that there’s no one, there’s no need for her to get possessive.

It doesn’t work. 

“I’m your mother, Jumi.” He hates that nickname. “Shouldn’t you spend more time with me? You know I love our time together. I know you love it too.”

No, no, no, no, no. He’s on his feet in an instant, scrambling back away from her as fast as possible. His back hits the shelf, no longer a child but an adult, and yet still equally as pathetic.

“Your father doesn’t even pay attention to me anymore. You’re all I have, Jumi.” Her eyes turn cold. “But it looks like you’ve found someone else, haven’t you? You’ve replaced me so easily.”

Now her gaze is focused somewhere else. Jumin follows it, peers through the darkness, only to see…

You.

Relief floods his chest all at once. You are his solace, to hold close and worship. You are the only person to ever understand him, to love him without hurting him. You have accepted him no matter how much he’s shown you that he doesn’t deserve any of your care. As long as you are by his side, he can face anything.

“Jumin.” Even his name sounds so much nicer coming from you. Everything and everyone else seems to melt away.

He takes one step towards you.

You speak again, but it doesn’t sound the same this time.

“Jumin.” Now that he can see your face properly, you look…angry. “Don’t come any closer.”

Immediately, he stops, and that sharp fear grips his throat, squeezing.

“You’re fucked up, Jumin.”

The words spit out of you like a spear, hitting him right in the center. 

It can’t be you talking. You don’t say things like that. You always tell him you love him, that you understand him, that you adore him.

But maybe you’ve just…had enough.

Tears begin to spill from his eyes. You stand before him, his heart in your hands, and you look at him with such disgust that he hopes the darkness in here opens up and swallows him.

“I’m leaving,” you say firmly, “don’t follow me.”

“Please,” he gasps, shakily reaching a hand out. “Please don’t leave me here, my love.”

But you don’t listen. You step up the stairs, grip the door, and with one last look of vitriol, you slam it shut, damning him to the darkness forever.

Jumin wakes with a gasp that’s really a sob, head jerking up and slamming against yours.

“Ah!” You grip your forehead, wincing in pain from your position above him. “Ow ow ow, that hurt!”

Like he’s in auto mode, Jumin sits up, touching your cheek with a terrified expression. “I’m so sorry, my love, let me call the doctor. I’m sorry.”

“No, no, I’m fine.” You wince again, rubbing your forehead. “It’ll probably bruise later, but I can deal with it.”

He hurt you. He hurt you.

But you don’t have any of the hate that your dream counterpart did in her eyes. Instead, yours are filled with concern, and you cup his cheeks with such gentleness that he closes his eyes, immediately melting in your hands.

“Were you having a nightmare?” You kiss his forehead. “You were tossing and turning and mumbling in your sleep.”

As much as he wants to bask in your worry for centuries, it doesn’t stop the guilt that threatens to spill. “I apologize for waking you, my love. And for hitting you. I—I was having a nightmare, yes, but I’m alright now.”

“Jumin.”

“If you’d like, I can make some tea for you to help you go back to sleep—“

“Jumin.” Your lips are on his forehead again. “You’re crying, sweetheart.”

So he is. It’s strange he didn’t realize, but there are indeed tears wetting his cheeks. He opens his eyes to meet your gaze, looking at him so sincerely and with such care that this time he actually feels the tears pour down.

“Oh,” you breathe, brows meeting in concern. Your thumbs wipe his tears away diligently, and your lips begin to kiss every spot you wipe. Jumin trembles under your touch, hating himself for being so pathetic in front of you and simultaneously considering crying forever so that you stay here forever too. “What is it, honey? Please tell me how I can help.”

He wants to. But all he can manage to do is grip the back of your shirt in his hands, bury his face in your shoulder, and sob.

Not even for a second do you let him go. He doesn’t know how long he stays in your arms, seconds, minutes or hours. He cries, and cries, and cries, until his eyes feel swollen. and all the while your hand strokes his hair, your lips kiss his cheek, and your voice comes out in soothing whispers.

It’s okay. 

I’m right here, I’m here for you. 

You have me forever. 

We’re going to get through this.

I promise I’ll stay with you as long as you want.

Even though he hasn’t told you what his nightmare was about, you still somehow know exactly what to say. 

Even when he finally tires himself out, Jumin can’t stand the thought of not being held by you. He’s never felt this safe, this protected, in his entire life. He continues to grip your shirt tightly, breathing in and out, chest heaving. Any second now, he thinks. Any second now, you’re going to pull away and see how awful he is when he clings to you again, like a child.

You do no such thing. Instead, you lean back against the headboard, gently guiding his head to rest on your chest. It’s not the most comfortable position, but he shifts so that he’s sitting curled into you and pulls you forward gently to place a pillow behind your back. This way, he can hear your heartbeat.

And it’s that steady rhythm that makes his eyes start to droop.

But if he falls asleep again, he risks having another nightmare.

“Sleep,” you murmur, kissing his temple. Jumin’s eyes close on instinct. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The promise knocks him right out.

///

When he wakes, you’ve kept your promise, and you’re in the same unfortunate position, head lulled to the side as you snooze. 

An indescribable feeling settles upon him. It’s not just one feeling, in fact, but multiple. Guilt, because he forced you to sleep like this throughout the night. Gratitude, because he’s pretty sure he’s in the arms of an angel sent from above. And most importantly, he feels white hot love, because he has clearly married the only person in this world worth a damn.

And as much as he wants to stay like this, he knows that will surely not bode well for the chiropractor appointment he plans to schedule for you. So Jumin slips out of your embrace gently, taking good care to lay your head down on the pillow. With you picturesque in front of him, he places a kiss on your forehead, whispering, “Thank you.”

“Ju,” you mumble in your sleep. Your hand seems to reach for something, stopping when he intertwines his fingers with yours.

An angel, indeed.

Jumin gets up fully, taking the time to brush his teeth and freshen up before going into the kitchen to whip something up for breakfast. He wasn’t expected at the office until after lunch, so he had time to really make something nice. Chocolate chip pancakes, instead of his usual strawberry.

As he makes the batter, he thinks. Last night was…an anomaly. There should be no reason for him to dream of people that no longer matter anymore. His present is the most important, and his present is, thanks to you, leagues and leagues ahead of his past anyway. He wants to forget it all, forget his mother and stepmother and even Sarah Choi, who, while she hadn’t made an appearance last night, had been in his nightmares more than once, in a bleak alternate reality where he actually married her.

But he knows who he really married. It’s the person whose arms are sneaking around his waist right now. You.

“Morning.” Your voice is exceedingly pleasant, especially when it’s cooed in his ear. “You’re going in late, right?”

“Yes.” He places a kiss on the back of your hand, pressing his lips to each knuckle. “And you, my princess?”

“All from home today, my prince.”

Inwardly, he feels a quick twinge of irritation. “I wish I could spend the whole day with you. I should call out.”

“I’m never going to dissuade you of that.” You kiss him right on the nape of his neck; Jumin shudders. “But it’s up to you.”

“I’ll end up burning these pancakes if you keep distracting me.”

“Maybe that’s what I want.” Your laugh is so pretty, he thinks, and he didn’t think he could describe laughter as pretty before you. “Um, before I get too off topic…don’t you think we should talk, Jumin?”

He knew you weren’t going to simply forget the fact that he had cried himself back to sleep last night. Luckily, before you’d woken, he’d already prepared for such a scenario.

“I apologize for disrupting your sleep. I had a disturbing dream, but it will not happen again.”

For a second, he thinks it’s enough to stop you from asking any further questions, up until he feels your arms slide out from under him. The next thing he knows, you’re turning off the stove before he can start on the next batch of pancakes. 

Then, you’re gently turning him so he’s facing you, looking at you right in the eye. Jumin has seen that look before. It’s way too determined for even his stubborn nature, and it always comes out when you’re about to do whatever you want (a rare delight, given your selfless nature, but one he enjoys every time).

Your hands loop around his neck, and you kiss his cheek. Jumin closes his eyes as you speak softly. “Won’t you tell me what’s bothering you, love?”

It’s amazing that you think anything could bother him when you’re this close, calling him that. 

“Just a nightmare,” he says softly, but you clearly don’t buy it.

“I have nightmares too, it’s very rare that one of them affects me that much after I wake up.”

“A bad nightmare.”

The other version of you flashes in his head again. You’re fucked up, Jumin. But she’s not you, and even though he thinks for a terrible second that you’re going to shove him away, you pull him in for a hug instead, warm and welcoming and cozy. The scent of your nameless-brand shampoo fills his senses—it makes him desperately want to go back to bed.

“Please,” you breathe on his neck. “That’s what you were saying last night. Please, Mother. Please, no. Please, don’t leave me.” 

His hands grip the back of your shirt.

“Please talk to me, Jumin,” you plead. “Please.”

Somehow, he has to keep from crying this time. How pathetic can one man be? But he also has to acquiesce to your request, because you’re you, and he cannot deny you no matter how hard he tries. If you want him bare, you shall have him bare. If you want him destroyed, he will destroy himself in an instant. 

“Alright,” he concedes, trembling.

Not wanting the kitchen, where you and him cook together and laugh together (and a couple other things too), to become associated with these tainted memories, he guides you to the couch, hands holding yours. You promptly get into your favorite position, on his lap with your knees on each side. With a sigh, he rests his head on your shoulder, the fabric of your shirt seemingly smoothing out the creases in his forehead.

Your lips on his skin and your whispered words of encouragement give him a courage he wasn’t aware he possessed. Jumin talks.

“You have not met my mother yet. There is…good reason for that. A week before our wedding, she sent me the profile of a woman she wanted me to marry. I refused, of course. But that is the first time she has reached out to me in years.” He clears his throat. “She and I did not have a pleasant relationship. I think some part of me was very disappointing to her, because instead of giving her the true challenge of parenthood I molded to exactly what she wanted me to be. She recognized that I was…abnormal.”

In the span of a few seconds, your eyes have hardened more than he’s ever seen them harden before. This isn’t determined. This isn’t even pissed. This is raw anger.

“Abnormal?” There’s a bite to your words. “Is that her way of saying she was blessed with an intelligent, kind child?”

“You are kind,” Jumin whispers, cupping your chin to press a short kiss to your lips. “As a child, I was perhaps more robotic than I am now. I took to the world of business rather quickly.”

“You were brilliant, Jumin. Were and still are.”

If he kisses you after your every reassurance, the two of you will never leave this couch (not that he necessarily minds that idea). The more disturbing risk is that he will break down in front of you, if he starts elaborating, not to mention when he begins to talk about his stepmother as well.

But that’s a risk that Jumin can now accept. He understands now, that he hasn’t known love before you, and that there will be a great many times he will feel afraid, but he also knows that there is no one in the world he trusts more. 

Taking a deep breath, he continues.

///

Jumin is addicted—addicted—to making you cum.

The face you make when you orgasm—eyes shut, mouth open in a silent scream, head thrown back—is the most beautiful thing he’s seen in his life. He considers spending eternity with his head between your legs, recklessly licking you to completion again and again.

The sounds you make—God. They have him rolling his hips against the sheets, so close to finishing just from your taste. It’s an obsession now, one that’s been growing ever since you two were married. A stressful day or a bad meeting or even projects being set back for whatever reason, Jumin can get all that frustration out as long as you allow him to spread your legs and devour you. As long as you squeal on his tongue, make a mess of his face, cum on his lips once or twice or more. He only stops when you beg him to. 

He could taste you forever.

But he reconsiders this commitment after he experiences the feeling of you coming on his cock once more.

A choked cry escapes him when he feels your walls clench around him. For a second, he can’t move, too lost in the way your eyes roll back and your nails dig into his skin. It’s the most pleasurable pain he’s ever had the fortune of experiencing.

“Ju-min,” you whine, legs clasping around his waist as he continues to thrust lazily, seeking his own release, “more, please.”

It really is always nice to know that he’s not the only one affected, enthralled and addicted to this madness.

///

Returning home to silence is still better than returning home to the sound of soft crying.

Jumin is on high alert in an instant, not bothering to take his suit or even his shoes off. You’re curled up on the couch, wiping your cheeks aggressively when you catch sight of him.

“J-Jumin, I didn’t hear you come in. Um…” You swallow, dried tears still obvious on your face. “I haven’t made anything, let me call the chef.”

He crosses the rug over to you almost blindly. There’s nothing else in his head, only you—your tears—you’re crying—you’re crying and he wasn’t here. His hands cup your face, wiping another fresh tear that rolls down your cheek as you look up at him, shaking.

“Who did it?” There’s a white-hot anger pulsing inside of him. He never sees you cry. “Tell me who I need to kill.”

A soft gasp escapes you, and you shake your head frantically as he sinks to his knees, taking your hands in his own and pressing reverent kisses to your knuckles. “N-no one did anything—I promise I’m fine, h-honey, please get up—“

Your laptop is set to the side, but the only thing on it is an email draft, giving him no clues at all. The last thing he desires is for you to have to recount that which distresses you, but he wants, needs, to ensure that you never get upset again.

“My love,” he swears, pressing his palms to yours, “please, tell me what happened. Was it something I did? One of the employees in the building?”

You whisper frantically, “No,” but even as you do another fresh wave of tears drip down your face.

Jumin wants to scream, wants to hurt someone, whoever is responsible, but he’s helpless, and so he lets intuition guide him, rising up until he’s next to you on the couch, and he’s pulling you in.

With a firm grip on his suit, you bury your face in his chest, shoulders shaking. In this moment, he recalls the predicament from that night, when the roles were reversed. How you’d simply let him cry, and held him all the while. Is he capable of…can he possibly bring you the same peace you bring him? Could you allow him to comfort you in the same way?

No matter what, he’s going to try. Anything for you.

Placing a kiss to your hair, he tightens his arms around you and murmurs sweet nothings, making sure you hear all of them. Everything from you’re the strongest person i know to i’m here for you, my love, i’ll be with you till the end of time.

“It’s just so much,” you finally hiccup, sniffing, “I’m busy all the time, they dump every project on me, I never get a chance to just take some time for myself and breathe! I’m always on some call, writing some email, visiting some area, I just want it all to stop. And you’re busier than me, and you do it so effortlessly, I can’t imagine how pathetic I must look compared to you.”

“You’re worth a hundred of me.” His voice is fierce, and he meets your eyes with his entire honest conviction. “Nothing about you is pathetic. You…you’re hardworking, you’re talented, you’re brave, and you’re the kindest person I know. I do not deserve you. I’ve never deserved you.”

“Please don’t say that,” you whimper, face still wet. He squeezes you tighter.

“I apologize. This isn’t about me. You need a break, sweetheart. Please, just request a week or at least a day off.”

“Jumin, I can’t—”

“I’ll request off too. Whenever you get a break, I’ll schedule one at the same time, and then I’ll take you wherever you desire, or we can simply spend it in the penthouse, and lay in bed all day. Or I could buy your company,” he half threatens, half jokes.

You let out a weak laugh, sinking into him, but he feels the tension in your shoulders release just slightly. Placing a kiss at the top of your head, he quickly texts for the chef to come by within the next hour, then tosses his phone aside to hold you better, which is when he catches sight of your own phone. On the screen is an image of the chatroom—a screenshot, he realizes, since his own messages are in it and he hasn’t been on the messenger today.

Your gaze follows his, and a slight smile finally forms on your face. “Messages from when we first met. Ah, the day I came to your apartment, I think.”

Oh, no. To put it lightly, those days were not a good time for him (although he’d never say such a thing, because he finds it cruel to say that some of the hardest days of his life included the one where he met the most wonderful woman in the world). Heaven knows what foolish things he’d said, he’s tried to block out most of the times that didn’t include the sight of you in front of him.

“They calm me down,” you admit softly, “the screenshots I have. I’m glad I took them, I have almost a hundred pictures that remind me of all the butterflies I would get when I talked to you. Knowing you’re my husband is the biggest calm of the storm.” Your cheeks are still stained with tears, but in your eyes is a newfound admiration as you and him look at each other, as though you have all the time in the world.

Jumin’s heart seizes.

“I’ll request a week off.” You reach up, a thumb on his cheek. “Thank you, Jumin.”

Surely, he thinks, being needed by you is the best experience of all.

///

“Thank you.” Your voice breaks the silence, muffled on his skin. “For letting me love you, and for loving me.”

Your husband kisses you, impatient as always, and you adore it.

“You’re welcome,” he breathes.

[hardly-an-escape]

for @bucktommypositivityweek Sunday 8/18: meeting the friends and family | spicy cupcakes | 534 words | rated G

“How do I look?”

“What was that, babe?”

Buck stuck his head around the bathroom door. Tommy was standing in front of the mirror, plucking nervously at his shirt.

“How do I look? Do I look okay?” he repeated, turning toward Buck.

“Yes? You look fine?” Buck said, coming into the bathroom. “You know I like this shirt, it brings out your eyes. Why do you ask?”

“This is the first time I’m meeting her. I have to make a good impression.”

“Who, Maddie?” Buck asked, confused. “What are you talking about, you’ve met her. Like, twice now. She thinks you’re great, Tommy, you know that.”

“Not Maddie. Jee-Yun,” Tommy said, as if it were obvious. “Your niece.”

Buck couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped him, and Tommy fixed him with a look.

“I mean it,” he said. “Do I look… approachable? I don’t have any nieces or nephews, I don’t know how to interact with little kids. Should I put on a t shirt instead?”

“Tommy. Babe,” Buck said, running his hands down his boyfriend’s chest and resting them on his hips. “You look fine. I cannot stress enough that Jee does not care. I mean, maybe if you showed up in a unicorn onesie that would score some points – she’s in a big unicorn phase right now. But outside of that? It literally doesn’t matter.”

Tommy got a speculative look on his face, like he was suddenly considering the logistics of finding a unicorn onesie at short notice that would fit a 6’2” firefighter, and Buck laughed again.

“Look,” he said. “My number one tip for hanging out with Jee-Yun? Or any kid, really. Just – treat her like a human being. You know, she’s not a doll, she’s not a prop. Ask her questions and listen to what she says. Play pretend. If she asks you to read a book, do the voices. But don’t stress.” He squeezed Tommy’s hips. “Seriously. They can sense that. Like sharks with blood in the water.”

“That is not helping.”

Several hours later, Tommy was sitting on the floor of Maddie and Chimney’s living room. A very elaborate tea party was spread out on the coffee table; he and Jee-Yun were both wearing sparkly pink plastic tiaras, and Tommy also had a purple feather boa draped across his broad shoulders.

Chim was in the kitchen, wrangling the dinner dishes, and Buck and Maddie were sitting at the dining table nursing glasses of wine.

“I think he’s a natural,” Maddie said conspiratorially, leaning toward her brother. “Look at them together.”

“Yeah,” said Buck. “I had a feeling he would be.”

“Your Majesty,” said Tommy, voice dripping with faux outrage. “Are you seriously telling me that you think the rainbow cupcakes taste better than the sprinkle ice cream?”

“Nooo!” cackled Jee-Yun. “Uncle Tommy! I maked you rainbow ice cream and spicy cupcakes!”

“Ohhh!”

Across the room, Tommy hissed and fanned his mouth as though he’d just downed a spoonful of sriracha.

Uncle Tommy, mouthed Maddie in delight, and I know, mouthed Buck back.

“Spicy cupcakes!” Tommy gasped. “My queen! How could you!”

“You’d better keep him around,” Maddie said fondly.

“I plan to,” Buck said with a smile.

[ebodebo]

Forbidden Fruit

NSFW CONTENT

—you and ghost had a relationship before you went off to college for your master's and he comes back for your father's and his bestfriends, captain price, party he’s hosting.

—dbf!ghost x f!reader

—1.6k+

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"So, what are you celebrating anyway?" you ask your dad as he stands in the kitchen frosting cupcakes while you sit on the counter half-assisting him.

"Uh...nothing in particular," Price says as he carefully frosts a cupcake. "I just thought it could be nice since everyone's in town."

"Mhm," you remark as you stick your finger in the frosting. He stops frosting and stares at you. "Oh, come on, my hands are clean, plus no one has to know."

"I would know," he earnestly says, half joking, half serious. "And I'll tell everyone, you stuck your finger in the frosting. You might as well stick your finger in their mouth."

"Oh my God, you are so dramatic!" You exclaim, laughing. His laughs follow yours until you begin talking.

"So, who's all coming anyway?" You question finally picking up a cupcake to begin frosting it.

"Uh...just the usual." He continues. "Kate and her wife, Johnny, Gaz, and Simon." Your eyes dart up. "Simon?" He sets the frosted cupcake down. "Mhm—oh damn it." He says, as he spills some of the frosting on his shirt. "Why?" He questions as he reaches for a paper towel.

"Uh...no reason. I just haven't seen him in a while." It had been a while or so since you last saw Simon. And saw him you did. 

"I guess it has been a while. Well, you two can catch up. Talk to him about college." You half smile.

"I should go change," you say, sliding off the counter and heading towards your room. Your mind is clouded with thoughts of Simon.

These are mainly thoughts of the way he left before you went back to college to pursue your master's. You confided in him, cried to him, embraced him, and even loved him. 

He said he would keep in touch, but that had been all of five years ago. You had not spoken to or seen him in five years. Of course, your father had no idea of the sentiments you and Simon shared. He could never know. 

You had sat in your seat for almost forty minutes. You were busy conversing with Laswell, mostly about college. You were just glad your dad answered the door for him. 

Your goal was not to look in his general direction for the rest of the night, but your dad forced you to greet him. It's a good thing his greeting is pretty much always serious and to the point, so it wasn't odd to John that his daughter and Simon shared only one word. 

However, then your dad had the grand idea to play a board game, which would force you to look at Simon. This would not do. You were looking for any reason to leave the table, to leave Simon. 

Thank God Kate spilled some of her wine on the table. "No problem. Let me go get some napkins," your father chimed as he stood up.

"I'll get them." You stood quickly, heading to the shed before anyone could object. 

You make your way outside to the shed to grab the napkins. You open the wooden door, which is surprisingly quiet, and step inside.

"If I were a napkin, where would I be." You whisper to yourself as you rustle around the knick-knacks crowding the shelves. 

With no luck finding the napkins on the lower shelves, you investigate the higher shelves. You notice the familiar shade of white on the top shelf. "Bingo," you proclaim, but soon discover it would be impossible for you to reach. You scope around, noticing an old wooden box.

You drag the box in front of the shelves and stand on it, slowly extending your arms higher and higher until your finger grazes the napkin packaging. However, you feel the box holding you up starting to tilt—just your luck.

"Fuck!" You squeal as you feel your body falling, though you never do hit the ground. Instead, a force holds you up. You open your eyes to see Simon's eyes peering into yours as his arms encapsulate your body. 

"You should be more careful," he gruffly states as he gently puts you down. You narrow your eyes at him. "What are you doing out here?" you question, irritability lacing your words. 

"Price asked me to check on you," he says. “You were taking a while." You turn towards the napkins again. "Well, tell him I'll be out in a minute." You step onto the box and are expecting Simon to leave, but to your dismay, you turn your head to him in the exact same spot. 

"This is usually the part where you turn and walk out the door." You chime as you place your hands on your hips. 

He stayed stationary, no words coming out of his mouth. You narrowed your eyes again at his lack of action. "Simon," you annoyingly said as you impatiently tapped your foot. 

He should most definitely not be thinking about you the way he is at the moment. You aren't just his boss's daughter; you are one of his best friends' daughters. It's unforgivable. You were off limits, forbidden fruit. 

Forbidden fruit Simon Riley wanted to take a bite out of. 

"Whatever." You scoff as you begin to reach for the napkins once again. "Stop." He bluntly says. You don't stop, though. You were going to get these God damned napkins one way or another.

"Y/N." He began, his voice becoming increasingly annoyed at you blatantly ignoring him. 

You still stretched your arms, finally feeling the plastic bag holding the napkins between your pointer and middle finger. 

"Enough." He sternly said as you stalked up behind you and roughly grabbed you by the waist, pulling you off the box.

"I almost had them." You breathed out, seething with anger. Though you were safely planted on the floor, Simon didn't let go of your waist. His hands stayed on your body.

Your eyes were staring into his. Your breath synchronized with his shallow breaths. "Let go, Simon," you breathlessly said, breaking the silence as you felt his hand grip tighten. 

"No." He gruffly says as he brings you closer to him. 

No, no. He wasn't just going to come back after years of ignoring you and years of your yearning for him. 

"Your parents didn't teach you any manners?" It was a low-blow and you knew it, but you were furious. You didn't know the ins and outs of Simon's relationship with his family, but you knew there was some deep-rooted trauma there.

"I guess not." He plainly states, bringing his hand up to cup your face. 

"Go figure." You whisper as you feel his hands on your face. 

"Now that we know it's not my fault, can I kiss you?" He leans down, bringing his face closer to yours, his lips hovering over yours. 

You are a weak woman, and you know it. It was just one kiss. That didn't mean you forgave him. I mean who are you to deny him one kiss?

You answer his question by hungrily connecting your lips. One of his hands slips into your hair while his other hand slides down to your waist. 

Your hands instantly connect with his hair, slightly tugging at his roots and eliciting low grunts from him. He carefully slips his hand under your pale yellow sundress.

"We shouldn't be doing this," you whisper as he kisses your neck, moving to your collarbone. "What if someone finds us? My dad?" you question, worry coating your voice. 

"You want me to stop?" He questions, slowly pulling his hand out from under your sundress. You eye him before grabbing his hand and placing it back under your dress, causing him to let out a gruff laugh.

"That's what I thought." He cockily says as he slowly rubs through your underwear, causing you to let out a moan.

"You've got to be quiet now." He continues rubbing light circles. "We would hate to have your dear old dad come in, wouldn't we?" You raise your hand to cover your mouth.

He shakes his head. "Move your hand." He commands. You hesitate for a moment. He raises a brow. You finally oblige, and as you uncover your mouth, he shoves your underwear aside and sticks his finger inside you. Making you open your mouth wide, but he is quick to slam his mouth onto yours, preventing the sound from escaping. 

You bring your hands up to lock around his neck for support as he glides his finger in and out of you. He picks up the pace, grunting into your mouth as he feels you tighten around his finger.

"Gettin' close, huh?" He whispers into your mouth. You frantically nod your head. He curls his finger inside you, finally making you release. 

He holds you up while you ride down your high, legs too shaky to stand up straight. "You know I'm still mad at you." You say as you place your hand on his shoulder for extra support.

"I know, sweetheart." He nods. 

Your legs finally stop shaking, and you are able to stand without his support. Your eyes widen in horror. "What are they going to think? We have both been gone for a while." You start pacing. 

"Relax." He gently grabs your shoulder. "They won't know a thing." He assures. You skeptically look at him. He tilts his head.

"You'll be fine. Come on." He guides you to the door and opens it for you.

"So, now what?" You question as you make your way to the backdoor of the house. 

"Tell me about college." He says as he opens the door to the house for you.

Even though you were still furious with Simon for essentially ghosting you, you couldn't help the small smile on your lips at the thought of regaining the relationship you once had with him. 

"Got a boyfriend yet?" He cheekily says.

Baby steps, you remind yourself.

reblogs & comments are encouraged!

[butididntpourthewhiskeys]

Homebodies

A little fluff for your TTPD weekend.

~~~

“No I promise, just sit down, I’ll be done in just a minute, mom.” she says firmly in response to her mother asking if she needs any help in the kitchen. Travis just gives Andrea that one look she’s grown to know too well. His eyebrows raised an inch and a smirk on his face that tells the blonde woman he’s got her daughter all figured out.

Leave it to me.

She giggles quietly at Travis, then slowly walks back into the living room to sit down next to Scott. Travis looks at all the different dishes on the counter behind her. The California sun is slowly setting. He should’ve known this morning when she announced that she’ll cook ‘a few Italian primi piatti’ that the ruthless perfectionist lurking inside of his girlfriend would finally make a come back on this Friday. After running around all day, going to the gym, completing her cardio challenge, baking cupcakes for her parents, finishing a work meeting, discussing a music video concept with her team and signing a few new contracts, she of course decided to hit the delicacy shop she loves out here in LA, just to buy all the ingredients she needs for a total of six different Italian dishes that she wants to make for him and her parents tonight. He knows too well by now that whenever Taylor is in this state of mind, there’s no stopping her. If she sets her mind onto something, there’s nothing anyone can say or do to make her loosen up a little. Even if that would involve her actually enjoying this quiet evening with him and her family instead of standing in the kitchen for a solid two hours now, not having had a single conversation with any one of her parents yet.

“What else needs to be done? I can cut veggies? I’m good at cutting stuff.” he tries one last time, steals a carrot stick from her cutting board and starts munching. While stirring the big blue Dutch oven in front of her, she looks back at him for a second, stressed, clearly not amused that he’s eating her uncooked food.

“No, all good. I just need to make sure the risotto won’t thicken too much and once that’s done you guys can sit down and eat the carpaccio before it gets soggy because I need to take the bread out of the oven and quickly scrap together the bruschetta sauce..”

Travis just sighs deeply, takes a step closer towards her. She’s too stressed whipping up the food in front of her to even notice him trying to get closer.

“How about we just let the bruschetta be? We’ve got so much food, babe. It’s just us four. It’s also really late already.”

She shakes her head, not responding to him and he knows that if he pushes her any more now, she might actually get mad at him tonight.

“How about I start cutting some tomatoes for the bruschetta then?” he says with a sigh, finally gave into her obsession with the tomato bread. For a moment she looks up at him, a weak smile on her face. It immediately lights up his entire body.

“That would be great.” she just says, still a bit hesitant and he knows why. She’s not sure if she should be happy that he’s offering to help her, or if she should be worried about the fact that he might cut off his fingers while doing so.

“Sure.” he says, can see the washed and perfectly ripe tomatoes sitting in the drain by the sink right next to her. He grabs one of the tomatoes, holds it up in the air with a question mark on his face.

“Little cubes?”

She nods, a smile on her face.

“Thanks, Trav.” she says then, still busy stirring the risotto in front of her. She doesn’t even notice that he gets closer to her, and fast enough has stolen her cheek a gentle kiss. She giggles all surprised about his gentleness, then feels him lean in again after a second.

“You’re very welcome, crazy.”

Another kiss leaving her cheek. She just giggles, continues stirring her risotto.

_________

“Taylor, that was absolutely incredible.”

She smiles proudly at her father sitting across from her, takes one last sip from her white wine.

“Thanks so much. So glad you liked it.”

“Honey, it was delicious but you didn’t have to put in all this work just because we’re visiting.” Andrea says, her tone a bit more dunning than Scott’s was before. Taylor just rolls her eyes, a bit annoyed that everyone around her acts like she reinvented the wheel with this Italian dinner. Yes, it was some cooking time to prepare this meal, but she loves hosting and loves being a cook. Her mom should know that better than anyone.

“Tay loves spoiling our guests.” Trav says then, and Taylor looks up at the big man sitting next to her. She starts smiling. Our guests. It was a simple sentence. But it made her feel a certain way. He’s home. This has become his home, too.

“I do. Also, this is Trav’s favorite dish. So..”

“Hey, don’t put this on me now.” He says quickly, jokingly holds up his hands in an innocent gesture that makes the whole table laugh. Taylor can’t help but giggle, too. She playfully hits him in the side.

“I gained fifteen pounds since December, Scott. Fifteen pounds.” he says dramatically to both Andrea and Scott, who amusedly witness the interaction between him and Taylor.

“That’s a good sign, though.” her father laughs, especially because his daughter starts hitting the man’s upper arm some more, looking deeply shocked from him, to her mom and back at Travis again.

“Do not even start blaming me for that. Every time I have food laying around he eats it. That’s not on me.”

Andrea starts laughing, and so does Scott. Travis just rolls his eyes playing pretend, sips one last time on his wine glass before looking at the blonde woman in the black top sitting next to him, giving him a playful side eye. She looks absolutely gorgeous as always, but there’s something in her eyes that gives her away. She’s exhausted. Deeply exhausted and tired, but he knows she won’t ever admit to it.

Without countering her some more, Travis just places his wine glasses in front of him, then wanders with his right hand to her head. He starts gently caressing her hair, wandering down to her neck then, where his thumbs draw some soft and slow circles. He can see her eyes getting smaller and her smile getting softer. His touch helps her let her guard down slowly. But she’s not the only one sitting around this table smiling quietly. Both of her parents witness his gentle gesture silently, a smile on both their faces, unsure if they’ve ever seen their daughter look as loved and taken care of as she does right now.

“You had three hours of sleep last night. How are you even still upright?”

She giggles, his hand now leaving her neck and reaching for her cold left hand.

“Jetlag and being tired is a choice.”

Andrea starts laughing. She knows just as much as Travis that this is the most ridiculous saying her daughter comes up with whenever she’s urged to slow down a little.

“Mhm. Sure.” he just says laughingly, knowing damn well that there’s no arguing with her tonight. Within less than two seconds, she gets up, starts cleaning the dinner table.

“How about you start picking a movie and we do the dishes.” Andrea now takes initiative but before she can even finish her sentence, Taylor shakes her head and makes sure to grab the used plates quicker than her mother can.

“Absolutely not. Trav will go pick a movie with you guys, I’m gonna quickly clean up and feed the cats and join you then.”

“I can feed the cats, babe.” the man who just got up right next to her tries once more but she shakes her head.

“No, please pick a movie with mom and dad.” She asks him with a serious look on her face and he sighs, just shakes his head in disbelief, knowing damn well that he’s got to let her be her obsessive self tonight.

“Alright guys, what do you want to watch?”

_________

“Why is it so quiet in here…”

“Because we are waiting for you, honey.” Scott says from the living room couch, looking at Taylor who stands in the now clean and shiny kitchen preparing the bowls for her cats.

“No, just start the movie already. I’ll be there in a second.” she says, really doesn’t want them to have to wait any longer. After all, it’s past nine already now. The view onto her little backyard is pitch black, and she knows her parents are still jet lagged, too.

“Absolutely not.” Travis says from the very right couch on which he sits, giving her that look she loves so much. With the remote control in his hand, as comfortable as he can be, he smiles at her, looking right into her eyes somehow even though this massive living room is dividing them.

“You can’t miss the beginning. It’s the most important part of this movie.”

“Alright, alright, give me one second.” she says, places the bowls in front of the three impatient cats waiting for their dinner, and washes her hands with her favorite lavender soap in the big kitchen sink one last time.

“Do you guys have drinks? Do you need any snacks, or ice cream? Trav, do we still have the…”

“We have everything, honey. Now enough with all this madness. Sit down on your ass. Now!” Andrea says in a new tone, which Travis hadn’t experienced before. It makes him smile though. Suddenly, Taylor just nods, turns off the lights in the kitchen and finally, after what felt like an eternity, makes her way up to her family lounging in the living room. Travis smiles at the beauty in front of him, immediately opens his arms for her to sit down next to him.

“Come on, babe. Lay down.” he just mumbles, gets comfortable on the big couch himself, a pillow in his neck, and enjoys to feel Taylor cuddle up to him, becoming the little spoon to be able to face the big flat screen.

“Alright, are we ready?”

“Yes.” Both Scott and Andrea answer annoyed from their seats and it makes Taylor laugh. Travis hits the play button and the movie starts. His right hand securely around Taylor’s small body frame, slowly wandering onto her stomach. She places her hand on top of his, and with his head on the pillow behind him, he leans over to her once, breathing in her incredible smelling hair, and steals her neck one last kiss. She moves a bit more, trying to get comfortable, and he can feel how fast her heart beats. He knew it. She’s been running around all day, not even allowing herself a single moment of rest. She’s rattled up, and her inability to just lay still in his arms is proof enough. Sometimes, he feels like whenever she’s not playing a show she needs to run around all day to compensate for her lack of adrenaline rush. It’s not good for her though. It’s not good to be in a constant state of stress.

The movie has just started and he catches himself every so often just staring at her instead. Her silhouette in the darkness, lid up by nothing but the flickering tv light. She’s the most beautiful person he knows. Not a single ounce of badness about her. It terrifies him sometimes, how deeply he loves her. How pure his feelings really are for her. His thoughts manifest themselves once more as she starts laughing about a scene on tv and he realizes that he was way too distracted to follow the storyline until now.

A few moments later, Travis can finally feel her become more and more still in his arms. Her hand still firmly over his, her thumb drawing the ever same slow circles on the back of his hand. She’s slowly coming down from her day. And half an hour later, he knows she’s fighting sleep. Whilst both of her parents are still awake watching and enjoying the movie he chose, the blonde woman in his arms has grown unusually quiet. It takes another five minutes and he feels her spasm once. She’s fighting sleep when really, she shouldn’t. Travis slowly lets go of her stomach, moves his big hand over her cold and naked upper arm instead. Nothing but the tv light lighting up her sleepy face.

“Baby?”

“Mhm?” she answers in her half sleeping state, of course pretending to be fully awake.

“Can you reach for the blanket next to you?”

She slowly sits up, grabs the blanket and just hands it to him, too tired to fully recognize the fact that she’s freezing in her top, and that she needs the blanket more than he does. She just lays down again, her head this time getting comfortable on his upper arm. He opens up the soft blanket over her, feels Taylor finally giving in. With her eyes half closed and the same tired disoriented look on her face whenever she wakes up at night to go to the bathroom, Taylor turns around, signaling him to open his arms for her some more. She’s now fully turned away from the tv, her sleepy face facing his chest. He protectively wraps the blanket around her cold torso, feels her little hand placed on his chest over his sweater. With her wrapped in his arms, and the blanket, Travis looks down at her closing her eyes, finally allowing herself to fall asleep. He leans down to kiss her forehead once, his arm around her, stroking her back up and down.

“Sorry, I’m just..”

He doesn’t know whether her mumbles are an apology to him or her parents about the fact that she falls asleep twenty minutes into the movie. But he’s having none of it.

“Shh. I’ll tell you later what happened.” he whispers, and she doesn’t even nod. Instead, he can watch her breathing get slower and slower and steadier and steadier. It takes less than a minute and she’s fully asleep in his arms. A little sigh escapes her throat. Her toes between his legs move once. In his arms, she slowly lets go. And Travis can now face the TV again, and actually enjoy the movie knowing that the woman in his arms is finally getting some well deserved rest. But his gentleness doesn’t remain unnoticed. Both Scott and Andrea watch Taylor drift off in his big arms, his left hand securely on her head, his right one around her waist, stroking her back over the blanket up and down every so often. Not one of the two can recall a time, in which they’ve witnessed their daughter more effortlessly safe, feeling loved and able to be herself more than in this moment.

[christinebloodwrittings]

To hunt or be hunted #2

Pairing: Alastor x Fem!Reader x Lucifer

Summary: Strong statements from the "feared" king of hell, deadly oversights, cute duck-shaped cupcakes and the forgotten terror that lives beneath the hotel enjoying a certain demon's broadcast.

Warnings: Self loathing, a bit of a scare, nothing else I can think of.

Taglist: open...

The crowd, and 102 notes have spoken. Funny enough, things I consider drabbles blow up, and stuff that I like and post stays forgotten, anyways that's life. Feedback is always appreciated btw.

For the ppl that voted One-shot, my request box is open if you guys want to drop something Hazbin related.

Charlie had habilitated a back door for the kitchen, heading to the street, so that groceries and the kitchen supplies that you order could arrive unnoticed and would not bother her guests. Also for you to come and go as you may see fit without drawing, as she called it, ‘Unwanted attention’.

Of course she wasn’t thinking of the swarm of questions that may come your way, but more like if they found out, she would have to break the little image she had worked on all this years, the controlled, nice and loving princess everyone knew; to show a bit of the real menace she can be. She hated exercising her authority over others because of what happened with you, it felt wrong and invasive, so she never wanted to re-enter the same void she had fell through when her mother left.

She still used a more severe tone when addressing to you and her orders, or as she calls them ‘mandatory suggestions’, orders nonetheless, and when she asks you for what you’ve heard around town. She wants to keep up with what the people say about the hotel? Not entirely, she just likes gossip.

When either Angel Dust or Husk asked Charlie where did the food come from, she either said that she ordered it, or rely on the fact that sometimes Nifty cooked, per Alastor’s suggestion, but only when he wasn’t around to bring out the fact that she was lying.

Your ears perked up at some noise coming from the renovated parlor, usually it was just Alastor messing with the king of Hell, which made your eyes roll in annoyance given his lack of battle IQ, but the stubborn stag was mildly protected by the princess’s favor, without it, his head would hang on the king’s wall, probably as a coat rack. Now, that thought brought you a smile and a small laugh.

Later at night, when most demons were fast asleep, Angel Dust tiptoe his way inside the hotel, after a long session demanded by Valentino. He tried no to groan given the fatigue, and as he stretched backwards, making his back crack.

“What the fuck?” he muttered when a candle lit up on top of the new bar table, on top of it lied a plate with a medium rare cooked stake sided with homemade mash potatoes and some sauteed vegetables, next to it a glass of wine and silverware, along with a note that read:

“You failed to attend to dinner, saved you a plate. Enjoy”

He reluctantly took a bite, but after realizing that if it were spiked with anything he would’ve already died, given that drugs in hell had a fast effect when it comes to assassination, he enjoyed every last bit of it, making small moan sounds as he did. He also complimented the selection of the wine. You enjoyed the praises as you saw him eat.

As soon as he made his way back to his room, you took the plate and various items to give them a wash. The next day, Husk earned a kiss on the cheek without knowing what he did to deserve it.

It gave you a warm feeling in your chest when the guests liked your food, even more so when they expected anxiously what would it be for the next day, as you never really published the menu for the week, only the princess knew.

Given Angel’s constant praise, you started leaving protein shakes in his night stand before he woke up, always with a ‘Drink me for strength’ note, same with Vaggie when she started working out in the mornings. Charlie took your gesture and assured that she made them out of concern, which was well received by the rest, but not so much from her towards you.

“What did we talk about laying low?” she turned a bit demonic as she whispered harshly, “If you want to starve yourself to death, be my guest, but you made me the chef of the Hotel since day one, and no one inside this walls will die of malnourishment if I can help it” you well knew of the nasty habit the princess had towards food, by sometimes (often) forgetting to eat, or drive herself to an extent of stress, that she just dismissed breakfast or launch, even both on some occasions.

“Fine. On another subject, my dad will start living here, permanently. He’s Celiac, just so you know” Gluten allergy, that caught you off guard. You made a mental note to replace flours, rice and pastas into a non-glutinous option, same as your pastries for tea time from now on.

“About time you made peace with him” she shot you a warning look but didn’t correct you, “Yeah well, I’m happy about it, it took too long” for a while she felt that it was her fault for her parent’s split, as any child of divorce would begin to feel in the first period of the breakup. That feeling diminished, but hasn’t left her system entirely, no mater how much her girlfriend reassures her of the contrary.

“Arrange his room please, I left a few things lying around, but I have a session, so, can you handle it?” you nodded, satisfied with your answer, or rather lack thereof, she turned into her cheery self. “He left to pack up a few things from the castle, he’ll be back in a few hours, please don’t let him see you” with that last bit, she left the kitchen.

The king’s room wasn’t messy, Nifty wouldn’t allow it, so there were just a few items to place around, and a massive bed to put together, piece by piece no less. It was a Belphegor’s elite brand bed, no less, it had an insane amount of screws and parts, for someone known as the queen of Sloth, it took a serious amount of effort to put up with her products.

Took you two hours to set the whole thing up. Why did it take so long to put together a bed? because when you had it perfect, you noticed that you had three leftover screws, you weren't supposed to have leftover screws, so you disassembled it piece by piece until you found a place for the damn screws. The instructions were worse written than a menu in a Cantonese restaurant when the owner is obviously not Cantonese and wrote up the whole thing in google translate.

You took a big breath, satisfied with your work only when you put on the last blanket over the foot of the bed. “Weight blanket” you muttered with the fabric in between your fingers. Right in between the bedspread and the sheet there was a fairly heavy blanket, it lead to something obvious, two, either anxiety, or the king was missing his wife to the point he needed a weighted hug over him.

Your ears caught the sound of wings, he would arrive in no time.

You only had a millisecond to think, either run to the door and risk being seen, or put on the veil, jump out the window, but you were at penthouse level, that would probably leave you quadriplegic, on the other hand you transferred your tunnel system between the walls from the old hotel to the new one, you would just have to push the fake tile behind the bathroom door.

You ran out of time.

Still in your place, like a statue, you put the veil carefully over your body, this time without your eyes being able to be seen through.

The fallen angel dropped one single portfolio, the same blowing up into a swarm, no, a tsunami of rubber ducks, pieces of clothing, all ending up scattered all over the room, giving you an opportunity to make your way behind the bathroom door.

“Oh Charlie put together my bed? That ought to be a lot of work” he ended the sentence with a singsong tone before jumping onto the mattress. ‘That’s a shit ton of baloney, I bust my ass and the little devil gets credit for it? Fucking fantastic’ you mentally growled.

“Lily, if you could see her, she looks more like you every day” his voice cracked, “I wish…I wished I knew how to help. What could I possibly offer her? Advice? Experience? On what?! falling, being a constant disappointment? She did more things than you and I did in ten thousand years”

“I feel so useless” peeking over the door you saw the tiny king, wrapping himself in his six enormous wings. ‘Majestic’ you thought, after seeing millions of demons since you died, it was the first time you saw someone so beautiful. It made sense, he was indeed the prettiest angel God ever created, the best singer too.

How can someone like that, ethereal, could be troubled by things so…earth bound?

In an instant, he jumped out of bed, brushed up his hair a little, then walked out the door with the most fake smile you had ever seen. Boy you knew about fake smiles.

Later in the afternoon, around tea time, you changed up your regular flour for almond, it was definitely a different experience in terms of texture, but in terms of flavor, it could pass for regular flour, no one was going to notice.

Three types of cupcakes: Salted caramel, red velvet with vanilla stuffing, and cookie dough cupcakes shaped as ducky ones.

Alastor wasn’t a fan of sweets, so a mildly coffee infused cake with a caramel dressing with coarse salt on top, did the trick amazingly. Paired with a nice cup of Orange Pekoe tea to send him down memory lane. When you picked his plate up, there wasn’t a single crumb left.

The rest of the Hotel fancied your pastries, and loved sweets. Red velvet was a well-received classic, but it consisted of a vanilla flavored cake, and pair it with a filling of the same flavor might over do it. Instead, you added orange juice to the mix, the citrus smell with the sweet vanilla swirl on top  were the sensation in the redemption session.

The only questionable thing about the mix was the berry tea that Charlie liked to drink during her sessions.

You baked small batches of cookie dough balls only a quarter of time, then poured the gluten free vanilla cupcake batter on top of it, keeping the cookie cooking at the bottom while you prepared the chocolate icing. When still warm you used a duck shaped scraper for the cake to take shape, then use the icing to make spikes, horns and little faces on them when it had cooled down a bit.

Why were you making special things for him? Pity? Empathy? Maybe both, but you were far too busy remembering the steps to the king’s room to bother.

All the ducks seemed organized, it definitely was the same mess, but perhaps there was some sense in his insanity. The plate was placed carefully in his night stand, along with a saucer and the tea cup filled with chamomile tea.

“Stop, freeze right there” you were about to place the hand written card when the distorted voice of the king froze your nerves in place, good thing that you were wearing the veil.

“Riddle me this, I’m connected to your every step, but I’m not your shoe. What am I?” he was near but stayed right in your blind spot, as he walked towards you. “Answer” his voiced sent chills down your spine, made your teeth sharpen as well as your claws, and your ears perk up defensively.

“You’re a shadow” your answer brought in him a subtle laugh, “Even through that shield of yours, dear, you cast a shadow, I saw a glimpse of it make it’s escape through the bathroom” was it that simple? Did anyone else in the Hotel had been as perceptive as him, no they would’ve ask Charlie or Alastor about it.

“So? How long have you been lurking in the Hotel?” walking past you, he brought up the tea cup to his lips, making a grimace, “Drink it, you look either sick, or worse, anemic, you’re three tones paler than your daughter” he shrugged, apparently aware of his state.

“I believe I asked you a question” his eyes shifted colors, just like Charlie’s, “None of your beeswax” you couldn’t tell him even if you wanted to, “I’m your King” the little heavy step he did was hilarious, but laughing would’ve get you killed.

“So what?” he widened his eyes at your boldness, dismissing it entirely after a laugh, “Mm, how about you answer my question and then I might consider letting you go?” his boot was on the edge on the veil, one move and he would see you, “How about you stop being a bull on me and enjoy my cookin’?” he took a moment to actually see the cupcakes, a tender smile drawn on his face.

When he looked back at where you where, all he saw was the veil falling gracefully to the ground, likewise it dissolved into the air.

“I fucked up” your heart throbbed painfully in your ear; the rush was real.

Your room was underneath the Hotel, a system of catacombs led to different fates to those stupid enough to enter, only you and the princess knew of the correct way. The space wide consisted of black brick walls, a twin size bed placed on the corner, a wooden wardrobe, the rustic eighteen hundreds themed bathroom, and a set of seven iron candle holders screwed to the wall.

“Good afternoon Hell!” Alastor’s voice became present through the radio you kept on your night stand, “I’m in a jolly mood on this occasion, a well baked pastry would put a smile on anyone, even in the crankiest demon in hell” he laughed, then continued on topics from a simpler time, then the screams of his new victim.

You rested your tachycardia on your bed, focusing on your breathing and Alastor’s voice, to make your heart slow down to a normal pace.

“Thank you for listening, it was a pleasure to entertain you. Now, a small request from a friend in between the walls, I hope you enjoy this one, dear” he placed the dusted vinyl on the player, allowing it to roll one of your most liked songs, Cuban Moon by Carl Fenton’s Orchestra.

Slang, jazz, the demoness that haunted Alastor’s brain was definitely from his timeline, probably the same state he lived in. But what really itched his brain, was the axe. “It’s an unorthodox method to kill someone, the blade loses its edge quickly and it would require a brutal force to cut through bones…unless” he pondered over an open binder with pieces of old newspaper that fell with him, parts of the news were about him, but the front page was about someone else.

The next day, Lucifer walked fast down the stairs, grabbed Charlie by her shoulders and demanded, “Who is she? The demon living in the walls?”.

Your note for Lucifer read the following: "Someone who swore to love you through sickness and health, and still left, is not worth your tears."

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Baloney: same as nonsense or bullshit

None of your beeswax: Slang for 'none of your business'

Bull: Slang for police-man

Stay tuned ;3 Part 3

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

it's very bad no good cupcake baking time for the hotel crew (save them) (charlie did you think this throu-) (NO)

Charlie: “I have! The most brilliant plan for a group bonding activity!”

Angel Dust: “Oooh~ Bondin’ or bond-”

Vaggie: “You live here for free.”

Angel Dust: “Buy my silence, Vaggity Fair, cause’ it sure ain’t free.”

Vaggie: (groans) (slips him a twenty) “Go on babe, what’s the mission statement?”

Charlie: “We should all bake CUPCAKES together!!”

Hotel Crew: "......"

Husk: “…Why.”

Charlie: “Beeeecaaaause it’d be so SWEET!”

Vaggie: “And you also live here for free.”

Husk: “Not of my own free will I don’t.”

Charlie: “Aw c’mon Husk, please? Baking is probably KINDA like drink mixing, right?”

Husk: “It’s not.”

Vaggie: (SIGHS) (slips him a twenty)

Husk: “I’ve got cooking sherry around here somewhere, I think.”

Alastor: “How thrilling! Extreme heat sources, flammable liquids, and so many little bottles and vials that couldn’t possibly get mix up with anything in the pest control cabinet!”

Niffty: “Hee hee hee…. Rat poison~”

Vaggie: “Twenty bucks and you LOCK that cabinet, okay?”

Niffty: “Thirty and a new knife set!”

Vaggie: (has given up) “Fine.”

Niffty: “OKAY!”

Charlie: “We need to go shopping anyway. We’ll need flour and sugar and uhhhh flavory things of some kind probably and um, those little paper thingies- the cup cake… skirts?”

Alastor: “Glad to see how prepared our intrepid leader is for this marvelous expedition!”

Charlie: “Cup cake… dollies…?”

Vaggie: “I’ll handle it. You remember how to pre-heat the oven?”

Charlie: “NOT with actual fire!”

Alastor: “Aww.”

Angel Dust: (handing back the twenty) “I want a new pair of fuzzy pink handcuffs. Mine broke~”

Vaggie: “I don’t want to know.”

Husk: (handing his twenty back too) “Beer.”

Vaggie: “Beer? You run the hotel BAR.”

Husk: “What, you think I nip stuff under the table at work?”

Alastor: “Oh there isn’t much thought needed when it comes to you, I’m afraid.”

Husk: “You think I LIKE that I do that? That’s the stupid hotel’s shit, can’t relax sneaking shots that aren’t mine, racking up a tab like that. This beer is gonna be only for me.”

Charlie: “Husk…”

Vaggie: “Great whatever, guilt free beer for the alcoholic.”

Alastor: “How touching. And I require-”

Vaggie: “What YOU need is a-”

Charlie: “Happy place!”

Vaggie: “-which I’m not picking up for you. I’ll get more cleaning supplies too while I’m at it.”

Charlie: “More? Vaggie, have some faith! We’re all adults here! It’s not gonna be THAT messy. We just need to measure things, maybe chop some stuff up first-”

Niffty: “KNIVES.”

Charlie: “-put all in a- blender-? A blender would work for mixing, right? Then pour the batter in the things and into the oven! Which I WILL remember to preheat this time. Without fire.”

Vaggie: “Good point.”

Charlie: “See!”

Vaggie: “We should stock up on first aid stuff too.”

Charlie: (pouting) “We’ll talk about it on the way.”

Vaggie: “Sweetie, thanks for wanting to help carry groceries, but I really think we need to divide and conquer here.”

Charlie: “Huh?”

Vaggie: “Husk is already halfway to the wine cellar.”

Charlie: “He wh- Husk wait! You can’t help make friendship cupcakes if you’re blackout drunk!”

Angel Dust: “Toots that’s the whole idea.”

Vaggie: “Fifty bucks if he’s still conscious when I get back. I’ll need him in the kitchen later if we’re gonna get through this alive.”

Angel Dust: “Spend it on getting’ him a really NICE beer and you’ve gotta deal.”

Vaggie: (eye twitch) “Why is all my money turning into drugs and sex toys?”

Niffty: “And KNIVES!”

Vaggie: “The one silver lining…”

Alastor: “You know, if you won’t extend simple shopping list courtesies to me, then I suppose I shall have to go shopping myself as well.”

Vaggie: “Keep your shopping on the other side of town from me or I’m coming home with a flat screen tv.”

Alastor: (annoyed channel switch sound) “….Noted!”

– LATER –

Hotel Crew: “………….”

Oven: (DING)

Vaggie: “…”

Vaggie: “….cupcakes are done.”

Charlie: “Oh yay. Whoo. Hoo.”

Hotel Crew: “…….”

Vaggie: “If no one takes them out they’re gonna burn.”

Angel Dust: “Let ‘em.”

Husk: “Little fuckers deserve to fry.”

Charlie: (exhausted) “No one deserves to burn for all eternity.”

Niffty: “Yeah! I wanna RIP THEM APART and STAB THE CRUMBS.”

Alastor: “Well that’s two votes for burning and two for rescuing, to a certain extent. I myself would like to try out these DARLING cupcake toppers that I found while out doing my shopping completely alone.”

Vaggie: “Oh my girlfriend’s dad shut up. You won’t die just because no one was listening to you for ten minutes.”

Alastor: “In any case, that makes three for rescue and two for burn, with you as the undecided vote, Vaggie. Choose wisely~!”

Vaggie: (sighing) “Someone hand me the oven mitts.”

Husk: “They’re in the fucking blender.”

Angel Dust: “What’s left of ‘em.”

Vaggie: “Fine. Someone move the pile of dirty dishes off Charlie so SHE can be our oven mitts.”

Charlie: “It’s so peaceful under here…”

Vaggie: “The friendship cupcakes are dying, babe.”

Charlie: “UggghHHHHHH ‘kay. Coming.”

Angel Dust “That’s what she sa-”

Vaggie: “KNIVES.”

Angel Dust “-cough cough cough! I didn’t say nothin’, I got a piece of walnut shell stuck in my throat!”

Alastor: “Usual night for you then, hmm?”

Husk: “Who the fuck put in walnuts?”

Vaggie: “Who cares. If they shelled them then it’s at least better than the coconut thing.”

Charlie: “Did we add anything that wasn’t nut related?”

Vaggie: “Uhhh.”

Angel Dust “Nope!”

Husk: “Is that the only thing you were keeping track of.”

Angel Dust “Hey I know my strengths and I’m stickn’ to ‘em!”

Charlie: “Speaking of strength and sticking… um…”

Hotel Crew: “……….”

Charlie: “They’re bubbling.”

Vaggie: “Yeah.”

Charlie: “Or, breathing?”

Vaggie: “Yeah…”

Charlie: “Is that normal? It feels kinda… not normal.”

Vaggie: “It’s. Impressive.”

Niftty: “They’re ALIVE!” (knife) “For now.”

Charlie: “Well I guess we shouldn’t REALLY judge them until we’ve actually seen what they taste like-”

Angel Dust “Not it!”

Husk: “Fuck no.”

Alastor: “I’m terribly afraid that I am on a diet.”

Vaggie: “You eat rotting deer carcasses.”

Alastor: “And THEY aren’t still moving when I chow in, ha ha!”

Charlie: “Okay well, I guess I’ll just…”

Vaggie: “Wait. You’re probably immune to half the stuff that’d kill us.”

Charlie: “Right, so I should-”

Vaggie: “You’re not a good example of what happens when a non-demon princess person eats these, sweetie. If wanna test for uh, quality control, it shouldn’t be with you.”

Hotel Crew: “…..”

Vaggie: “….hand me a cupcake.”

Husk: (edges out of the splash zone)

Charlie: “You don’t have to do this.”

Angel Dust: “But you totally should! After I get my phone out though, hold on a sec-”

Vaggie: “I’m standing right in front of Radio Head over here so don’t even THINK about recording this.”

Alastor: “Aww my dear little angel-”

Charlie: “Alastor.” (calm smile) (horns out) “Her name is Vaggie.”

Alastor: “-Vaggie, yes, I would almost be willing to make an exception to my own morals for you.” (grins at angel dust) “Almost.”

Angel Dust: (lowering his phone) “I was jus’ takin’ a selfie. You know. Since I’m covered in sticky white shit anyway.”

Husk: “This fucking sucks.” (shakes his paws)

Vaggie: “No. THIS does.”

Vaggie: (bites cupcake)

Hotel Crew: “……………..”

Vaggie: “….hm.”

Hotel Crew: (STEPS BACK)

Vaggie: “It’s… well it’s kinda…”

Charlie: (cringing) “Break up worthy??”

Niffty: “PAINFUL?”

Vaggie: “It’s.. Fruity..?”

Hotel Crew: (stares at still moving cupcakes)

Angel Dust: “No. Fuckin’. Way.”

Husk: “Since the fuck WHEN did they have fruit in them?”

Angel Dust: “They didn’t! I swear I checked!”

Charlie: “Are they, um, edible?”

Vaggie: “Well I wouldn’t sign them up for a baking competition but I’m not dying either, so.”

Charlie: (excited) “So we did it? We all made actual cupcakes together?”

Vaggie: (smiling) “We did it. Mission cupcake completed.”

Charlie: “HAHA YUS!” (fist pump) “FRIENDSHIP POWERRRRRRR!!!!”

Alastor: “Now now now, no cupcake is fully complete without a lovely floral topper!”

Angel Dust: “Ain’t THAT the truth~”

Alastor: “Which I bought. Alone. Without any second opinion to rely on.”

Vaggie: (rolls eye)

Charlie: “And they’re so cute! Thank you Alastor- you picked wonderfully. Everyone, get decorating!”

Niffty: (drooping) “No stabbing?”

Vaggie: “You can poke ‘em each with a knife to check that they’re done.”

Niffty: “HEHEHEH.”

Vaggie: “Poke them with the knife ONCE Niffty- hey- NO- don’t leave it inside-”

Angel Dust: “That’s what-”

Husk: “Will be on your gravestone if she fucking hears you.”

Charlie: “Awww~ Now they’re adorable AND delicious!”

Husk: “Don’t.”

Angel Dust: “I didn’t say nothin’!”

Vaggie: “I actually kinda wish you’d go back to sex jokes instead of whatever you’re doing to that cupcake”

Angel Dust: “There’s more than one kind of oral performance in the world~”

Vaggie: “Say that and then look at what Niffty’s doing to her cupcake.”

Husk: “Unholy fucking shit!!”

Niffty: (GLEEFUL CACKLING)

Charlie: “Okay well, we clearly each have our own… unique ways of enjoying these cupcakes. Some more uh, graphic and concerning than others-”

Angel Dust: “Why the fuck are the insides RED like that?! Who put in red dye???”

Charlie: “-but the point is we all came together to make these sweets! Which. Taste like strawberries?”

Vaggie: “I didn’t buy strawberries.”

Charlie: “A-at least it and the redness go with the rose themed toppers!”

Angel Dust: “Yeah, I mean, is it weird that out of this whole maybe-living cupcake thing, the professional spun sugar parts are the ones with the funkiest taste to ‘em?”

Vaggie: “….”

Vaggie: “Alastor. Where the fuck did you buy the rose themed cupcake toppers.”

Alastor: “Hmm? Does my private, SOLITARY shopping FINALLY interest you?”

Vaggie: “Where you literally on the other side of Pentagram City from me.”

Alastor: “I do believe that is what you requested, and I, being a proper gentleman even to someone who might be considered a less than proper lady, was only too happy to oblige!”

Charlie: “Vaggie are you okay? You’re looking kinda pale.”

Vaggie: “I’m.”

Vaggie: “Alastor did you get these rose themed toppers-"

Vaggie: "-in Cannibal Town?”

Angel Dust: “WHAT THE FUCK!?”

Alastor: “I did.”

Angel Dust: “FUCK!!!”

Husk: (hairball noise)

Charlie: “Oh no.”

Alastor: “Dear Rosie gave me quite the discount. Wasn’t that sweet of her?”

Charlie: “Oh. Nooooooooo-”

Alastor: “I think it utterly darling of her~”

Niffty: “Alastor, hey hey!”

Alastor: “Yes, murder of my eye?”

Niffty: “I stabbed my cupcake topper heheheh WHO did I just stab????”

Charlie: “NOOOOOO-”

Alastor: “I believe it was an unsatisfactory husband by the name of Bill.”

Niffty: (grinning) “A BAD boy?”

Alastor: “Not bad enough to escape Rosie’s Emporium intact but yes, in a manner of speaking.”

Niffty: “Oooh.”

Niffty: (snatches up another cupcake and hugs it) “For my collection.”

Charlie: “GAAAHM NOT HEARING THIS! I DIDN’T HEAR IT!”

Angel Dust: “GREAT CAN YA MAKE IT SO’S I DIDN’T EAT ANY OF IT EITHER!??!”

Alastor: “Not to your tastes, Angel Dust? And here I though you enjoyed have strange men in your mouth.”

Charlie: “DO WE KNOW HIS ADDRESS SO I CAN SEND AN APOLOGY LETTER???”

Alastor: “I suppose his business card might still be in the hand Rose tore off him-”

Charlie: “AAAAAGH!”

Vaggie: “Hostia. You really can’t not be the center of attention for five minutes can you.”

Alastor: “I can, truly I can and very happily! It seems however that YOU cannot withstand the consequences of your own, short-sighted actions.”

Charlie: “Um guys-”

Vaggie: “Oh yeah? You’re not the only monster here, dumbass.”

Charlie: “We’re getting a little off topic-”

Alastor: "But as I am the only one not mired in glorious self-pity, certainly I am the most impressive specimen here.”

Charlie: “Okay this is going a bit-”

Vaggie: “Impressive HA! Fuck your empty grin and your stupid suits. You’re not even the one with the highest body count.”

Angel Dust: “Are we talkin’ sex stuff orrr-?”

Vaggie: (takes topper off her cupcake and pops it in her mouth)

Hotel Crew: “………”

Vaggie: “What?”

Charlie: “Vaggie, um. Person.” (points) “Person food.”

Vaggie: “Sweetie, you know how murder crazy exorcist are. You really never thought we didn’t lick a little blood off our weapons now and then, to feel extra badass about slaughtering people sometimes?”

Charlie: (dazed) “I’m thinking about it now.” (covers cheeks)

Niffty: “BLOOD!”

Angel Dust: “Oh ew. Oh you're getting off on that- Oh that’s just-”

Charlie: “Part of her past, a thing EVERYONE has.”

Angel Dust: “BLEH.”

Husk: “Also step one to seeing her shitfaced.”

Charlie: “Ha haaa…” (claps hands) “Okay everyone- that’s a wrap on today’s bonding activities! I uh, I think we can save the clean up until we’ve all recovered from the actual cupcakes a bit, right Vaggie?”

Vaggie: (shrug) “Whatever.”

Husk: “About damn time.” (sighs) (walks out) “I’ll get the fucking vodka.”

Niffty: "HEE HEE." (carrying cupcake over her head) "TO THE COLLECTION!"

Angel Dust: “Hold up baby! I wanna get shitfaced too after this!”

Charlie: “Well I think it’s all very interesting! Angel stuff is interesting, isn’t it Alastor?”

Alastor: “Yes. Quite.”

Vaggie: “Uh-huh.” (slumps and drops cupcake) “Bill tastes boring as hell, by the way, maybe let Rosie know before she sells anymore of these.”

Charlie: “Oh? Maybe THAT’S why she gave such a steep discount?”

Alastor: “Perhaps.”

Charlie: “Awww cheer up Alastor. You can bring her some of our cupcakes as a thank you, now that we uh, we’ve um, had our fill of them already.”

Alastor: “Hmph.”

Vaggie: “Think I’ll head up now.”

Alastor: “While grabbing a drink along way, hmm?”

Vaggie: “Yeah. Why not.”

Charlie: “Vaggie-” (catches her hand) (squeezes) “-grab one for me, too? I’ll be right behind you.”

Vaggie: “…wine from the cellar then, huh?”

Charlie: “I’m having whatever you’re having.”

Vaggie: “Sweetie, you hate the shit I drink.” (small smile) “I’ll get us something from the cellar. Meet you up there.”

Charlie: “In a heartbeat.”

Charlie: “….”

Charlie: “Alastor.”

Alastor: “Oh don’t scold me for her baggage, dear, I don’t make her carry it.”

Charlie: “I’m not scolding. I just- I get that you have this whole-” (air quotes) “-annoying big brother who hates being ignored thing going on with Vaggie, and while it IS kinda sweet-”

Alastor: (microphone feedback) “Excuse me?”

Charlie: “Could you turn it down a tiny bit when it comes the exorcist stuff?”

Alastor: “I do not-”

Charlie: “I know I know you don’t mean to make her all droopy like this, it’s boring for you, totally a killjoy-”

Alastor: “There is NOTHING enjoyable about that woman!”

Charlie: “-So maaaaaaybe back off a little when things get too serious?”

Alastor: “NO!”

Charlie: “Think about it okay?” (pats his shoulder) “Anyway, thanks for sticking around for the friendship cupcakes, see you at the next hotel bonding session, Dadastor!”

Alastor: “At the next-”

Alastor: “………”

Alastor: (hissing) “DADastor!?”

[us3rnam3-r3dact3d]

It is my birthday today, so here are some Redacted Boys on their Listener’s birthdays

David

Birthday planner extraordinaire. David plans birthday presents months in advance, consults Asher (master gift giver) and your friends to find out the perfect gift is. He doesn’t believe in giving you refills on any of your every day self care products, fav foods, any of that. He wants each and every gift is special and something you’ll actually enjoy, but not something you’d think to get for yourself. Angel strikes me as a party person, and David is a magnificent host. He once even managed to pull off a surprise party for you without a hint of suspicion.

Asher

Birthdays are an all week (sometimes month) affair for Ash. He starts the celebrations on the first of the month (a few weeks ahead of that if the first is your actual birthday). He decorates the entire house, gets you multiple cupcakes and treats throughout the month “because it’s your birthday!! I know it’s two weeks away what does that have to do with anything??” Ash is, as previously mentioned, a master gift giver. He gets you several gifts, scattering them across the month, that are Exactly what you want, often without you even having realized you wanted it. He pays attention to you throughout the year, especially when you go shopping together or what you’re online shopping, and keeps lists on his phone of stuff you look at but don’t get for whatever reason. He makes you feel special for as long as he can milk it!

Milo

Extravagance is the name of Milo’s game. He’s a bit more low key about it than Asher, but he puts just as much attention and dedication into making your birthday special as his friends do. Milo believes in quality over quantity, and he has expensive taste. You stopped looking up the prices of his gifts years ago, since they often made you a bit queasy. Very nice clothes, jewelry if you’re that kind of person, accessories and items that have to do with your hobbies that you haven’t gotten bc of how expensive they are. He gives you a few, beautifully wrapped gifts, gets you coffee in the morning, takes you to lunch, your favorite shops/activities, and finishes the day off with an expensive dinner out. He takes the day off work, even though he never willing takes his own birthday off (David has forced him to a few times). Although it’s true year round, Milo makes sure on your birthday especially that you know you are the center of his world.

Vincent

Vincent used to be an extravagant person, but in recent years he’s come to appreciate the intimacy of a quiet, private day for the two of you to celebrate together. Vincent showers you with gifts of course, but that’s no different than every other day of the year. He spends every second of the day waiting on you hand and foot. He makes you breakfast in bed, makes sure you have time to shower, do some self care, peacefully do the things you love without having to worry about anything. He learns and practices how to make your favorite meals in private, gets a fancy cake shipped in from out of state, and spoils you with fine wine and champagne to celebrate. He plans and purchases a birthday outfit for you every year, which perfectly compliments your style and is tailored to fit you (how he does that without you ever having to sit for a fitting eludes you), and he takes you to all of your favorite spots where the two of you can celebrate together.

Sam

Simple is the name of the game for Sam and Darlin. I feel like neither of them are huge birthday people, but Sam wants his partner to feel special, even if it’s just another day. A simple gift, something you already need but probably won’t but for yourself. He makes sure nothing and nobody bothers you all day, often employing the pack to make sure you’re left alone in the peace of the cabin you two share. You go on walks around the woods, sharing the quiet together. He makes you a cake himself. The icing is messy and it’s a touch too dry, but it was made with so much love it hardly matters. He makes you feel loved and special without feeling exposed or observed.

And that’s what I’ve got rn. Might come back later with the damn boys, but I’m going to go eat some cake!!

[short-honey-badger]

Forgetful Valentine's

The long awaited fic! I do hope you all enjoy what I've whipped up!

Everyone have an amazing Valentine's Day! ❤️❤️❤️

Pairings!: Sir Crocodile x AFAB Reader.

Quick summary : Crocodile is hard at work trying to get the Cross Guild up and running and accidentally forgets that it's Valentine's Day.

4.3k words

Masterlist

Buggy Town was lively as usual. Almost Everyone here belonged to the cowardly clown’s crew, but a few select members had elected to stay loyal to Crocodile. The ex-warlord strolled through the tall tents toward the middle of town where real construction had begun. He had a hand in each building, deciding what and where needed to be built first. Mihawk was uninterested in this side of running the guild, and Buggy was far too incompetent to use a hammer, much less direct a building crew made out of pirates.

Crocodile made his way to the largest building, a hotel slash bar of sorts that housed him and the other leaders of the Cross Guild. It'd been a couple of days since the devil fruit user had been able to rest his head, and he was thrilled at the thought of getting to see you, his wife. The two of you have been together since his relocation to Alabasta, been married for around eight years now. Impel Down and Marineford had been life-changing for both of you, but things were beginning to look up with the formation of the Cross Guild.

Only the people Crocodile thought worthy enough to see him with his walls down knew that he was a bit of a romantic at heart. You were obviously one of them, and he couldn't wait to get back to their personal room, curl his huge frame around you, and go to sleep.

However, Crocodile couldn't help but think that he was forgetting something important- he just couldn't figure out what. He sighs heavily and pushes open the door to the hotel, and his cigar would have fallen out of his mouth if he had not clenched his teeth.

The entire lobby has been decorated in PINK. There are paper hearts and streamers everywhere, and someone has even made cupcakes with cutesy designs. There is a massive banner that spans across the bar, where Buggy and his crew sit at the bar, drinking and having a swell time, and Crocodile feels his heart drop. It's Valentine's Day, and he forgot.

Crocodile has nothing ready, nothing prepared for you. He's been far too busy dealing with the new shipment of crops and lumber coming in. The ex-warlord swears under his breath and spins on his heel, mind working quickly to try and find a solution.

Any other year, Crocodile has gone all out for you. Back in Alabasta, he'd wake you with flowers and a sweet breakfast, keeping the day open just for the two of you. Then he would take you out for an extravagant date, only to bring you back to the casino to feed you expensive fruits and worship you from head to toe. Before the night was over, he would run the two of you a bath, making sure it suited you perfectly before gently cleaning his love of the day's events.

All that changed after Straw Hat came and wreaked all of his plans, but right now, none of that mattered. Crocodile needed to find something - anything to give you. He's already wasted the majority of the day and cursed himself for not realizing what today was again. He could only hope that you would be forgiving.

Crocodile flies out of the hotel, dropping into sand and scattering out through Buggy Town. He comes back together when he finds Mihawk, knowing that the other man would have some fancy, expensive wine lying around somewhere.

The swordsman cocks a brow at him, looking thoroughly unimpressed at Crocodile's sudden entrance. Mihawk takes in the older man's rather erratic appearance.

“Can I help you?”

Crocodile smooths his hair back, settling back into nonchalance. He doesn't want the haunty man's help, but he doesn't have many options at the moment.

“I need a favor, a bottle of wine - strawberry, your most expensive brand.”

Mihawk shifts his weight, crossing his arms and leaning back against the crates behind him. It's not every day that Crocodile of all people comes asking for a favor.

“Why?”

The taller man flicks the ash from his cigar, eyes flickering to the darkening sky. He inhales deeply, lungs filling with smoke and then leaking up into the air. Fuck. This was embarrassing.

“I forgot it was Valentine's Day. I can't show up empty-handed,” Crocodile grumbles and huffs in annoyance when he sees the amused smirk on Mihawk’s face.

“You? Why celebrate such an unnecessary holiday?” Hawkeye inquires, but his eyes shine in mischief. Mihawk knows exactly the reason, but he can't help but want to pick on the other man.

Patience running thin, Crocodile glares down at the pompous bird who looks too smug for his own good.

“Because I don't take the one I love for granted,” he snarls down at Mihawk and revels in the look of anger that flashes across his face before it disappears. They glare at one another before the swordsman ultimately sighs and rolls his eyes as he is being asked to do the most unfortunate thing in the world.

“Fine,” Mihawk drawls and turns on to march back to the hotel, “Only because your wife deserves to have a nice Valentine's.”

Wine now in hand, Crocodile stalks to the back and into the kitchens. He demands the cooks whip up a platter of fine fruits and cheeses, simple things that he knows that you like. As he steps back into the lobby, he catches sight of the rack of cupcakes that sit far too close to Buggy for his liking. He sighs as he steps over to the figurehead of the Cross Guild, clearing his throat and smirking around his cigar at the way the clown shrieks and breaks into pieces.

Crocodile snatches up a cupcake, transferring the bottle of wine to a helpful pile of sand that he summons without a thought, “Who made these?”

Buggy looks about to die in his spot when he raises his hand, cheeks coloring bright red in embarrassment as he admits to baking the cupcakes. Crocodile scoffs at the goofball of a man who somehow became an emperor of the sea.

“Of course you did,” he sneers before turning on his heel and loping upstairs, leaving behind a befuddled and terrified Buggy.

The gator is uncharacteristically nervous when he arrives in front of his door. He can hear soft music playing from within, and his scar pulls tight around his nose when a wince crosses his face. The song is slow and crooning, one that he recognizes as one of the few that you play when you are feeling upset with him. Shit.

I’ve lost all ambition

For worldly acclaim

I just want to be the one you love

Crocodile steps through the door, brows pulling up at the sight of soft lighting and delicate decorations that are just a bit tacky. He cracks a tiny grin, and stubs out his cigar in the nearest ashtray, though the effort you’ve put in here just makes the ex-warlord feel guilty. On he goes, passed the living room, and out to the small balcony where he can still hear the slow tune of the song.

And with your admission

That you feel the same

I’ll have reached the goal I’m dreaming of

You sit in one of the chairs that have been set outside, blanket wrapped tight around your body, and turn when you hear the door slide open. Crocodile catches your eyes, and his shoulders slump in relief when you reward him with a soft smile full of love. You stand, dropping your blanket, and come to his side, simply happy that your husband has made it home before the end of the day.

Crocodile drapes himself over you, setting the wine bottle and cupcake away and then curling his arm around you tightly. He lifts you, tucking his hooked arm under your legs, and you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling yourself in so that you can seal your lips to his, sighing in relief at feeling the man you loved close again. You know that he is busy, and you try not to let how much his absence hurts, but you hadn’t thought that Crocodile would have forgotten Valentine's Day.

You rest your brow against his own when the ex-warlord parts from you, letting out a quiet giggle when he presses a smattering of kisses to your cheeks and nose, though when he stops, you can see the regret still shimmering in his purple eyes.

“Forgive me, doll,” Crocodile rumbles against your lips, “Getting the guild up and running has taken too much of my attention away from you.”

You smile at him, a soft quirk of your lips that Crocodile had fallen in love with over time. He once thought you were mocking him with that easy expression, but now it is one that he cherishes above all else.

“There is nothing you need to apologize for, baby,” you coo softly and smooth a hand along his jaw, feeling the days-old stubble there. You trace the scar that runs along his nose and cheekbones, “I know that you’ve got a lot on your plate.”

Crocodile huffs, leaning into the hold you have on him, “That’s no excuse. You deserve better than this. If I’d remembered, we wouldn’t be spending this evening in the hotel surrounded by fools.”

“It's not very nice to speak about your co-workers like that,” you tease your husband, and the gator just rolls his eyes skyward.

“As if either of them contribute to the guild,” Crocodile grouches and shrugs out of his heavy overcoat and settles into the chair, situating you into a more comfortable position in his lap. Below the chair, sand shifts and slides back inside and to the cellarette. He retrieves two wine glasses and his hand reforms with the stems tucked between his fingers.

“Impressive as always,” you quip and take the glasses, resting them beside the wine and cupcake that you are just now noticing. Your smile turns into a delighted grin, and you snatch up the bottle, reading the label, “You got my favorite!”

Crocodile gives you a smug smirk, feeling proud of himself for doing at least something right tonight, “Thank Mihawk later. He’s the one who had it lying around.”

He disintegrates the cork of the dark bottle and pours them both a generous amount of the pale pink wine, handing you your glass first and then taking up his own, “The cooks are making you that little snack tray you like so much. Always eating like a little mouse.”

You snort at the old nickname, “Not my fault that fruit, cheese, and bread go so well together.”

Crocodile keeps a steady hand on your hip when you lean back over and pick up the cupcake, examining the bright pink icing and chocolate cake, “Who made this?”

The sigh Crocodile disperses is earth-shattering, and you raise a brow at his dramatics, only to smirk when he hisses, “Buggy.”

“See, your business partners are good for something, right?” You point out and take an obvious sip of your wine, then examine the cupcake, wondering which angle to go in at to create the least mess.

Crocodile snatches the cupcake from your hand, setting it back on the table. He didn’t trust you not to get crumbs everywhere, “Enough, you’ve made your point. Be grateful, hmm?”

You scoff at his audacity to think that you would ever be ungrateful for anything the devil fruit user got for you. You quickly decide to show your husband just how grateful you can be by being obnoxious, of course.

You drape yourself over Crocodile’s chest with a dramatic sigh, shifting to cradle his face in both of your hands to press your lips to his in a lip-smacking kiss, “Thank you so much for the wine and snacks to come my sweet, dear husband! What would I ever do without you?”

“Be wineless and snackless,” Crocodile rumbles and snickers at your dramatic display. Seas does he love his wife, so opposite to him, but with a unique outlook on life that he has always admired.

You laugh, catching him in another kiss before settling back down. Crocodile pours you another glass, and you sip it with a suspicious look, “Are you trying to get me drunk, Sir Crocodile?”

The grin that you receive is dastardly, and you are tugged impossibly closer, almost spilling your drink if not for the grip you had on the delicate stim. You shiver when that dangerous hook finds the edge of your dress, and send Crocodile a soft glare when you hear it begin to rip. Cool air meets your thighs when he rips it further, and he leans in, lips brushing against yours as he speaks.

“If I recall, you quite like it when I take advantage of you, Doll,” He rumbles, and his flesh hand smooths up your thigh, thumb dipping in between the juncture of your legs and stroking the soft skin there. Crocodile longs to feel your plush thighs wrapped around his waist or his head. The ex-warlord wasn’t picky. He presses his cheek to his wife’s, breathing you in and leaving a lingering kiss to your ear, “Or am I remembering incorrectly?”

A breathy laugh escapes you, and you turn your face, lips finding his stubbled cheek, “No, you remember correctly.”

You think about teasing him about the fact that he had forgotten what today was but cast the thought away when you lean back and catch sight of the dark circles under his eyes. Your husband looks tired, and your tipsy, lust-filled mind is swiftly reminded that this is the first time that Crocodile has been back to the hotel in days.

The gator raises a brow when he catches the change in your expression, and he sighs as he is subjugated to your concerned fretting until a knock on the door grabs his attention. Crocodile sets you on your feet, hands off his glass to you, and suggests you gather the wine and join him inside.

By the time you make it inside, Crocodile is shutting the door and lopes over to the sitting area where you’ve sat your bounty on the center table. The tray of snacks joins the wine and sweet treat, and Crocodile presses a quick kiss to the top of your head, “Get ready for me while I change, Dear.”

Crocodile smirks at the way you flush at the husk of his voice, and satisfaction curls hot in his chest at still being able to make you blush like a virgin even after all these years.

“Yes, Sir,” You breathe, and his cock twitches in interest. Crocodile leaves before he can say fuck it and go straight to the main course.

With your husband gone, you take in a deep breath and set to “getting ready” as he ordered you to do, which surmounted to waiting for him to get back so that he could manhandle you how he wanted. You help yourself to another glass and pick at the charcuterie board - eating the cupcake too while you’re at it - you’ve already eaten, but you were never one to turn away food.

The sight of your husband dressed down in black sleep pants with a cigar hanging from between his teeth - he’s even taken off his golden hook for the night - makes you smile, affection, and love for the dangerous man who used to infuriate you at every turn. Now, only you had the honor of seeing the suna suna user like this, all soft and intimate, and all for you, his wife.

Crocodile sighs as he settles on the floor where you’ve strewn out pillows and thick blankets, making a cozy pallet for the two of you. He rests his back on the couch, extending his hookless arm along the cushions and taking up his filled glass. He watches you pick over to the record player and switch songs, smirking when the husky voice of the female artist fills the room. You settle back in his lap, and he wraps his left arm securely around your waist.

Your fingers find his scared wrist and trace gentle patterns there. You rest against him and quietly ask him about how the last couple of days have been. You listen to your husband grouch about the incompetent fools he works with a fond grin, occasionally rising to pick at the snack board and feed your overworked ex-warlord just to get him to pause in his rants. You chime in here and there and offer one last time if he wants your help, but Crocodile denies you like every other time.

“I won’t have you out there around those heathens when I can’t be there to protect you. Mr. 3 and Daz are the only two I trust around here,” Crocodile grumbles and pushes away the cracker and cheese combination you offer him. He smirks as he watches you shrug and eat it for yourself.

“Once I get a more stable network, then we can talk about getting you back out there.”

You huff, but agree for now, not willing to argue with the stubborn man right now. You blink when your world suddenly spins, and the next thing you know, your husband is looming over you, scar scrunching up as he grins meanly down at you.

“Enough about work, Doll. I’ve held myself back for your sake, but I’m done being patient,” Crocodile rumbles and stabilizes himself with his left elbow, trailing his flesh hand up your knee and pushing your dress up and around your hips. Saliva pools in his mouth at the sight of smooth thighs, your panties hugging your mound and leaving little to the imagination. He wants to mark you up like his personal canvas and paint you with bites and hickies so that everyone would know who you belong to.

He leans back just enough to tug your dress up and over your head, tossing it behind him the moment it leaves your head. Crocodile hums, pleased at the sight of your bare breasts, though he would have liked to have seen you nice and dolled up for him, “What have I told you about wearing the lingerie I bought you?”

You blush and shake your head, “It just gets in the way.”

“Ku ha-hah, If you would give it a chance, then maybe you would change your mind,” Crocodile grumbles at you and then leans down to mouth at your collar bone, nipping at the delicate skin there. His hand splays across your side, and he slides it down your hip to hook into your underwear. He tugs them down, growing impatient when his cock throbs in his pants.

Any thoughts of arguing about lingerie are whipped from your mind when those sharp teeth of his find one of your nipples and bites. You curse, one hand gripping his shoulder and the other sliding into his hair, nails biting sharply into his olive skin. The tip of his tongue curls around your nipple, sucking gently to ease the sharp pain.

With your underwear out of the way, Crocodile hooks his fingers around your thigh and tugs your legs open, hooking your left one over his hip. The tips of his fingers dig into your inner thigh, and you moan when he nips your nub before releasing the abused flesh and lean your head back to expose your throat when he noses forward. He sucks dark marks into your skin, leaving behind a painting that only your husband would have the pleasure of viewing.

Crocodile drags his hand down your thigh, growling low in his throat when you dig your nails into his scalp again. The tips of his fingers find your cunt, and he slides his middle finger through your folds, smirking against your skin when he feels how wet you are for him. He leans up and sucks his finger into his mouth for half a second, soaking it thoroughly before sliding it back down and finding your entrance with practiced ease.

“Fuck,” you hiss, and your hips jerk at the sudden stretch. Crocodile was a large man, bigger than the average at the least, and that meant everything on him matched his height. His fingers, usually decorated with rings, were long and thick, and the gator knew how to use them to bring you over the edge until you were begging for his cock.

“Too much?” Crocodile grunts out from where he has leaned back to lave his tongue along your throat, sharp teeth nipping, “But you can take it even if it was, couldn’t you, sweetheart?”

You jerk your head in a nod, deliriously with wanton lust, “Of course, Sir. Whatever you wanted from me.”

He laughs against your skin, and then he is moving up to shove his tongue past your lips, groaning at the mixed taste of you and sweet strawberry wine. You suck on the thick muscle that fills your mouth, jaw aching at the way Crocodile doesn't let up. Your thighs shake when he adds another finger, the pace brutal and impatient.

“C-croc, please,” you plead when he pulls away, lips red and smeared with spit, “You're not the only one who's been waiting.”

Crocodile gives you a smirk, not needing to be told twice. You unwrap your arms from his neck, and he sits back on his knees, thumb hooking into the elastic of his pants, pulling them down, and you watch his impressive length spring free. Your mouth fills with saliva, and if you didn't want your husband inside you so badly, you would demand he sit back so you could suck him off.

Instead, you reach out and wrap your hand around the thick base, smirking when you feel him pulse in your hand. You squeeze gently, eyes landing on the thick precum that leaks from his tip. Crocodile rumbles above you, sounding like the animal that he is named after, and the sound sends shocks straight to your core.

Done with your playing, you sit back and tighten your legs around his waist, causing the big man to rock forward.

“Fuck me, Crocodile. Make it up to me for almost missing Valentine's.”

Crocodile's grin is nasty and mean, sharp teeth pearly and on display, “As my wife demands.”

With those words, Crocodile bats your hand away from his cock and takes himself in hand. He guides himself forward, hissing at how tight of a fit you are, swallowing him down until his hips pressed flush against your own. Crocodile lingers for half a second before he is pulling out, dragging along your walls before slamming back in.

You shout, head falling back to the pillows below as Crocodile sets a back breaking pace. You hold on to his shoulders to dear life, his hand tight around your hip to keep you still as he fucks into your cunt. He shifts his knees under you, arm moving to wrap around your waist, keeping you close as he moves to kneel on the ground. This position pushes him impossibly deeper, and you lean forward to rest your sweaty brow against his chest.

Crocodile bounces you on his cock, bodily moving you up and down, and you feel that hot coil of pleasure snap inside of you when your clit grinds wonderfully against his pelvis. He doesn't stop, growling as you clench tight around him and snapping his hips up, dragging his length against your sweet spot.

“You should see yourself,” Crocodile snarls above you, and bends, pressing his cheek to yours, “Stuffed so full with my cock. You like it when I'm rough, don't you baby?”

You nod eagerly, teeth clenched tightly when your husband tightens his grip in your waist and holds you down while he grinds up. You come quickly after that, hands tight around his shoulders and nails digging into Crocodile’s back.

His pace becomes erratic, and Crocodile can feel himself starting to get close. His wife feels too good, and he doesn't fight it when that heat snaps, pulling you down and shoving in to fill you up to the brim. You watch him, taking in the blissed out way, his brows furrowed and his sharp teeth clench. He paints you from the inside, and the two of you look down at where you are connected to see a mix of slick and semean leak out and stain your thighs.

The two of you stay like that until Crocodile grows soft and he slips out of your fucked out pussy with a quiet groan. You stay draped over him, unwilling to move, and feeling exhausted. The gator huffs at you, though he can't pick when Crocodile lets out a jaw cracking yawn. He stands with a heavy sigh, unbothered by the mess left behind as he lopes to the bathroom.

Crocodile switches arms, tucking his handless arm under your ass to keep you help up while he flicks on the tub. It's too hot for him when he steps into the huge tub, but he knows that you wouldn't tolerate anything cooler than molten lava. He adjusts you so that you are mostly submerged, big frame relaxing against the edge of the tub.

He smooths your hair away from your face, a soft smile playing on his lips when he catches your eyes. He leans in and presses his lips to your brow, “I love you, Doll.”

You grin, eyes falling shut, and you press yourself as close as you can to your husband, lips grazing his chest, “I love you too, Crocodile.”

The ex-warlord hums low, a smirk appearing, but you can still see the slight discontent in his eyes. Today isn't how he would have liked it to go, and you both know it. He tucks you close, head leaning back.

“I won't forget next year.”

[devoutekuna]

Babyshower

Includes- Toji, Sukuna, Nanami, Gojo, Geto

Sukuna-

"What's the point in a stupid Babyshower?" Stuffing his face with sugar cookies decorated like teddy bears since those were the chocolate ones. He was laid out on the floor with you sat beside his head, trying to figure out how you were going to cut the cake since it was 3 tiers, he personally didn't care how it was cut as long as he got some, having 3 separate layers for each of your favourite flavours, that's how thoughtful he was without showing it, it matched your dreams in a Babyshower cake the pink and blue ombre decorating the layers. "So we can find out the gender!" Picking off a fondant decoration which was sin the way, passing it to him. "No kidding." Annoyed with how you pointed out the obvious. He had kicked all the guests out just so you two could have this special moment to yourself.he wasn't a fan of your friends, always plotting to eat them if you dropped them.

"Hurry up woman" cutting the cake for you with his cursed technique, a slice falling perfectly onto the plate, revealing the icing colour as he passed it to you. It took you a few seconds to realise what he had done but looking down at the colour only made you squeal.

Nanami-

"Here" handing you the knife as he sat down next to you. He baked a vanilla rectangle cake for the gender reveal. "Thank you" nodding in response. Despite baking the cake he was still in the dark about the colour since he got someone else to do it. "Actually, pass me the cups" motioning towards the wine glasses. After passing them he leaned on your shoulder, feeling the frame of his reading glasses dent into your arm. "Ready?" "Yes" digging into the corners of the cake to reveal the pink/blue icing. "Guess we're having a girl/boy" he didn't seem happy to someone else's eyes but since you knew him best, he didn't show much emotions.

Geto-

Alcoholic and non alcoholic drinks all around as he celebrated the gender of his baby soon to be revealed. "When you want to do the cake, tell me." Arm around your shoulder, kissing your miserable face. "I'll kick them all out" he hated the fact that he had to invite some of his followers and your friends and family. But he was on cordial terms with them even if it was one-sided, he couldn't invite any Jujutsu sorcerer friends you had, as they were enemies.

"Sorry about that love" kissing your cheek once again, seeing how much happier you were after they all left. Knife already digging into one side of the cake. "It's fine" cutting him a slice of cake, the baker had made it so the cake only had white icing inside, but cupcakes ontop held the secret. "There's no colour Y/N" confused as to why it was neutral. "Take this then" teasing him coming to an end as you picked off one of the cupcakes. Gracefully biting off one side, only to reveal the icing filled inside coloured.

Gojo-

"If it's a boy we should name him Satoru JR, or if it's a girl we should name her Satoshi!" Slapping the back of his forehead as you heard how he wanted his kids to carry atleast some resemblance to himself, they already get some of his name with the surname 'gojo' become a hyphen to yours. "I'm not naming my kid after you" biting into a cupcake to reveal nothing but white icing, the baker had done it so that you two had to guess which one had the icing in. "Why? I've got a beautiful name" taking another cupcake just to reveal more white icing, you two were getting down to the last 5 cupcakes, him having accidentally eaten some whilst the guests were still here. "Yeah but I'm not naming my kid after you, end of" he was getting on your nerves at this point with his ego. "Fine" sighing in defeat, he loved to get on your nerves but stopped since you got pregnant, afraid of causing an premature birth.

Stuffing a cupcake fully in his mouth, he was supposed to ake a bite then show you. "Satoru!" Scared that he may have messed it all up if he ate the one with colour in, "What?" Mouth stuffed with cake as he asked, resting his arm on your shoulder, as he tried to comfort you. "What if that was the one?" "Then it was, the past is the past baby" kissing your teeth at his response, oh how you hoped that it wasn't the one.

"Look Satoru! It's blue/pink" shaking him as you showed him, white icing decking your bottom lip as you licked it clean off, too excited to care about your appearance.

Toji-

Laid out on the sofa wearing nothing but sweatpants, he couldn't be bothered to put on a shirt. Placing the tiered cake on the coffee table, neutral themes to keep you both on your toes as you knew he'd try and guess what gender it was by the way it was decorated. "What are we doing, normally or that thing you wanted to do?" He was very attentive when it came to you, always noticing small details, especially since you have been watching so many videos of couples using wine glasses to take a bite. "Cups" smiling at him, grabbing your waist as he brought you closer, fingers tracing the side of your baby bump. Handing him a cup, bringing the cake closer. "Go on" he couldn't even hide his excitement, face plastered with smiles as he watched you reveal the gender, pink/blue frosting peaking out from the side of the cup.

[formulaforza]

masterlist

multi-part works

miss americana & the heartbreak prince [in progress]

seasons of love [completed]

bite-sized fics

one-shots

said something stupid, instead of 'i love you' (cl16)

"When you were young, your mother once told you she thought you and Charles were each one half of a puzzle--incomplete without the other. You’re lucky to have him, she told you, people spend their whole lives looking for the other half of their puzzle."

this one and the next (cl16)

"You see him for the first time at a café. You’re sixteen and don’t even like coffee, but your best friend is dragging you in. He’s working behind the counter, flustered and busy, running around mixing drinks and taking orders. "Que voulez-vous commander madame?” He asked your friend, and she ordered. “Et vous?” I don’t drink coffee, you told him. He smiled, goofy, something familiar in his eyes. You noted his nametag, carefully drawn on with a chalk marker. Charles."

you gotta move, or move on (cl16)

"I feel like I barely know you anymore, you said once, on the phone, in the middle of the night because it was the only time you got calls from him anymore. He’s in America, racing with Sauber now and you haven’t been to a single race outside of Monaco." 

oh, simple thing (cs55)

"“It’s dead,” you said, took it from him and tossed it aside. “It’s not nice to pick flowers, Carlito. It kills them.” He burst into tears and your mother scolded you the rest of the way home, even though it was her who always told you to leave the wildflowers wild. After some time and consideration (a plate of dinosaur nuggets, half of Cinderella, and a bedtime story) you’d decided maybe Carlos was right to cry about the dead flower."

blonde hair, lemonade tea (mv33)

"Max has been working in the nursery since the two of you got home from Abu Dhabi. He won’t let you anywhere near it, and makes you wear a mask when you even walk down the hall past the freshly painted bedroom. Each night you think he couldn’t become more protective over you, and each morning you’re surprised to find that somehow, he is." 

strawberry wine (dr3)

part two: everywhere, everything

"Danny also moves around the place like he owns it, which, if it was up to him he probably would. He hums your name as he moves past, taps the opposite shoulder to the one he leans over, reading your textbook over your shoulder. “It’s seventeen,” he quips."

you can take it off (lh44)

"And then there was Lewis, the last to arrive, who never called you kid, who never viewed you as one. He sits adjacent you in the red, high back leather booth and takes up a seat and a half, the toe of his shoe brushing against the side of yours, flashing you apologetic puppy dog eyes every time he bumps against yours." 

if walls could talk (cl16)

"He drags you into the living room, towards the rest of the evening festivities, with his arm tossed over your shoulder. Between that, and the whole let me get your eyelash thing minutes earlier, you’re as close to certain a person can get that he and his girlfriend are still broken up."

caught in a blue (cl16)

"You take a seat on your porch steps. Voices pour out louder, now. They’ve gotten rowdier with every lap you’ve done. A cousin pulls the old squeaky door open behind you, and you jump in your seat, turning around to see who’s busted you. They hold their hands up defensively, mouth a quick sorry like they’d walked in on you changing, and disappear back into the house. You pull your braid over your shoulder, twirl it around your finger carefully. Nervously, you ask: “Do you think we speak too often?”"

blurbs

love letter (cl16) cupcakes (ms47) snowflakes (cs55) carousel (cs55) rainy days (cl16) puppy (ms47) daddy-daughter dance (dr3) furniture (cl16) diamond ring (cl16) lunch date (ms47) it will come back (cl16) coming home (cs55) the nearness of you (cl16) jupiter (mv33) when you're ready (cs55) nowhere in particular (ls18)

social media aus

curveball (cl16) birthday (cl16) vlog (ms47) a bet is a bet (cl16) jpg (dr3) take me down (cs55) summer lovin' (cs55) in the club (aa23)

head-cannons

max and dating lewis and yearning

copyright © 2023 formulaforza and absolutelynotmate-archive all right reserved. do not under any circumstance plagarize, edit, repurpose, or repost any of my original work. this includes fics, blurbs, aus, headcannons, and edits.

[erwinsvow]

𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞

summary: you and aaron are having a hard time deciding on a baby name.

word count: 1.5k

author's note: eeeeeeee x3. cannot stop writing for aaron, especially domestic, happy aaron. not bau!reader but i stole elements from that story too, linked here. i really loved this one!

now spinning

You had thought time would fly by during pregnancy, or at least that’s what everyone else made it seem like. You felt like all you’d heard so far was warnings to enjoy this time with ‘just the two of you’ and spend your days preparing as much as you could. 

You’d taken it very literally—your evenings after work were spent reading baby books and prepping food to store in the freezer.

Your days off from work, and even the rare, treasured weekend Aaron has off, is spent looking at paint samples (all yellows and greens, even though you’ve known it’s a girl since the two of you had Jack take a big bite out of a cupcake with raspberry frosting inside) and browsing websites for a car seat and a stroller. Aaron digs through the garage for Jack’s old things, and comes out with a sturdy wooden crib and a beautiful bassinet. 

Aaron doesn’t worry as much as you, of course, and he has the best dad instinct you’ve ever seen. It comes so naturally to him, you almost worry about yourself. Will it be this easy for you? 

You have experience parenting now, thanks to Jack and all the time you spent with him and Aaron even before you got married, but he barely counts. He’s an angel child—one who asks for extra servings of vegetables, does his homework without being asked, and never complains when you have to remind him to tidy up his room. 

Besides a few puzzle pieces and various, outgrown sports gear scattered throughout the house—your house, your family home, you think fondly— he always puts away his belongings in the proper place.

He even reminds you and Aaron of his upcoming school projects and which commitments he penciled in for—a friend’s birthday party next weekend (When should we go get the gift?) and a class field trip next month (They need two more chaperones. Should I ask Uncle David?)

You’re convinced you’ll never have it this easy with another child. You start over preparing the week you find out you’re pregnant, after Aaron smothers you in kisses and hugs.

He takes you out to dinner with the team—another rare, treasured event, but not because he doesn’t want to, just because they’re always on a case—and you break the news to them when you turn down a glass of wine from Emily, who looks at you quizzically. No more wine for nine months, you had said. Ten, JJ corrected.

You’re seven months now, halfway to eight. Pregnancy brain is very real and has affected you like crazy. You keep forgetting to go grocery shopping and then you keep misplacing the paper grocery list Aaron keeps on the fridge with a little magnet. You and Jack have been eating a lot of take-out, and he’s not complaining but he still inquires about his vegetable intake over slices of pizza. 

“You know, the baby is the size of a coconut right now,” you tell Aaron on the phone, rubbing your stomach. Your back has been killing you lately, another thing you had read about happening nearing month eight in your baby books of horror.

Aaron offers a massage when he’s around but it always hurts the most when he’s gone. Besides, his massages are what got you into this predicament in the first place.

Jack is asleep on the sofa right next to you. He had asked to watch Star Wars before bed—it’s a Friday night and he has no soccer practice tomorrow, and you are a perpetual good cop who can’t say no—so you had cozied up with him and a bowl of popcorn on the couch while The Empire Strikes Back played quietly in the background. You move your hand back to stroke his hair while he sleeps.

“Really, sweetheat? A coconut?” Aaron says. The team is up in Connecticut, and though he’s gone and you wish he was here with you, you’re thankful he’s in the same time zone.

You’re not sure about the case and can’t stomach the gory details anymore, but you think they must have made some strides since he’s staying on the phone with you and not in a rush to leave.

“Uh-huh, that’s what my book said. Never knew a coconut could kick this hard.” Aaron laughs on his side of the call, a sweet sound. You smile. “Maybe she’s kicking now to let us know she wants to play soccer like her big brother.”

“A prodigy in the making. Speaking of, does Jack have practice tomorrow?” Aaron likes to remind you of these things because he knows you keep forgetting.

“No, nothing tomorrow, I triple checked. And this little brainiac is just like you, keeps reminding me so I don’t wake him up at seven-thirty tomorrow.”

You hear Aaron laugh again. It all feels very domestic. Your mouth hurts from smiling.

“Aaron, it’s getting to that time. We need to pick a baby name soon. Any crazy ex-girlfriends or female serial killers we need to avoid?”

“Well there’s certainly a few. Serial killers, that is, not the other thing. What are you thinking so far?”

“Well my book said-” Aaron groans on the other end. “Hey! Don’t knock my book, it’s helpful.”

“Honey, your book had you convinced the baby would be missing fingers and toes if you had a turkey sandwich.”

“Deli meat is bad during pregnancy! So is sushi, thank you very much. I’d rather not risk my baby’s digits just because you wanted subs.”

“Reid said that’s not true and everything’s fine in moderation.”

“I’m sorry, has Reid ever birthed a human before?”

“Point taken. Your book also said your heartburn isn’t a big deal because it just means the baby will have a full head of hair-” “JJ said that too! And she said Henry had lots of hair-”

“And it also said sex during pregnancy is bad. Remember that?” Your face heats up. Damn him, making you blush even when he’s hundreds of miles away. 

“Oh, whatever. Just tell me which names we have to avoid. I think we should do something with a J, though. Make it matching.”

“Very sweet, honey. Jordan? Juliet? June?”

“Hmm,” you ponder carefully. Even if it’s silly, this feels like one of the biggest decisions you’ll ever make. “I like them all but I don’t love them. They’re too… something. Too new maybe.”

“Older names, then? Joy, Josie, Julia?”

“I like those too. Should we really name our child after a Beatles song though?”

“I think that’s a great idea, don’t you?” You can almost hear it in Aaron’s voice—he’s relaxing for the moment. Either they’ve already caught the unsub or you have a bigger impact on him than you thought you did. 

“Well if we’re gonna do that then we should at least use Eleanor or Michelle. Or Lucy! I like Lucy.”

“I’d prefer not to name our daughter after a song written about hallucinogens.”

“Aw, you're no fun. How about Anna?”

“What happened to wanting to match with Jack?” he asks.

“Ah, let the kid have his own identity. If he had it his way we’d name the baby Leia or Yoda.”

“Leah’s not bad. Pretty and simple. Four letters, keeping the trend.”

“That’s not a Beatles song!” You hear Aaron groan.

“You have too many demands, honey.” “No, I’m just picky. You should consider it a compliment, I’m choosy and I chose you, remember?”

“Vividly. Prudence, then?”

“Oh, that’s pretty.” You try to picture it written on holiday cards and homework sheets. Prudence Hotchner. You say it aloud to test the feel of it. “Prudence Hotchner. Prue Hotchner.”

“Sweetheart, I was joking.”

“You should never joke around a pregnant woman. I like it, it’s so pretty. Pretty Prudence.”

“You don’t think it’s a little old?”

“Well, her father is an old man who wants to name her after a Beatles song, so yeah, it’s very fitting. Doesn’t it just roll right off the tongue? Prudence Hotchner? We could call her Prue.”

“Prue is very cute. I like Prudence Joy.”

“Oh, I love Prudence Joy. Prudence Joy Hotchner. I like it so much. I’m tempted to wake up Jack and ask if he likes it.  Will you ask the team if they like it too?”

“I will, honey. Isn’t it time to sleep now?”

“Yes, I’ve just been putting it off. Jack’s asleep next to me, I have no idea how I’ll get him upstairs without waking him.”

“If you wake him he’ll be able to fall asleep again, as long as it’s quick-” “I know, honey, don’t worry about us.”

“Can’t help it.” You can’t stop the smile that spreads, cheek to cheek. You have a feeling he’s smiling too.

“You’ll ask the others, right? About Prudence?”

“Yes, honey, I will. I’ll see them in a little bit, I stepped out to call you while I made another cup of coffee.”

“Oh, Aaron, it's so late for coffee,” you chide, lovingly. Don’t drink a whole cup please. I wish you guys would drink tea instead. Or at least decaf.”

“Sorry, sweetheart. I gotta go now. Kiss Jack goodnight for me?” “Of course.”

“And play Prudence her song, then?” You can’t contain the smile on your face.

“Of course. Good night from all three of us, Aaron.”